Toile de Jouy
by SymphonyinA
Summary: Christine is taken beneath the opera house, but the Persian and Raoul are nowhere to be found. A dark version of what could happen after being forced to make an impossible decision between two terrible choices.
1. Chapter 1: Stains

"Angels pure, angels radiant,

Carry my soul to heaven!"

I fell into the depths of hell.

I tried to cry out, but Erik restrained my arms and silenced me by shoving a sweet-smelling cloth over my mouth and nose. I gasped for breath, feeling myself falling away in the arms of death. The scent filled my head with colors, then dissolved to black, and my limbs fell limp as I was dragged down, down, down, into the depths of the earth.

I opened my eyes again and found myself in the boat, enclosed on all sides by darkness save those two glowing eyes and the lantern at the prow. My heart threatening to shatter my ribcage, I attempted to push myself off the front and drown in the opaque water, a far more pleasant fate than whatever Erik had planned. But he caught my skirts. The hem tore, the sharp sound reverberating around us, and pulled me back into the boat.

"Be patient!" He told me, as if I were an irritating child.

I sobbed and screamed, trying to writhe away, so he forced the horrible cloth over my face again, even though I shook my head and pleaded with wide eyes. But my vision dissolved the darkness once more, and I slipped away.

When I woke, dazed and disorientated, taking in the familiar drawing room, I found myself on the sofa. The cushions of this were crimson, and in my state of mind I had a sudden fear that it was my blood! But I was unharmed, as I realized quickly when my lucidity fully returned.

I couldn't see Erik, so I darted to the front door. But his doors weren't exactly doors, and they only opened to him, so I hit my fists against the surface and cried out in pain.

He was going to kill me! I knew he would, I had tried to run away, lost his ring, he had vowed revenge on me if I did such a thing... Oh, that's why he had said 'be patient;' he wanted to kill me himself!

I collapsed against the door, panic enveloping me as I wept. Without warning, it opened, pushing me to the side, and I curled up in the corner of the room, near the dining room doorway. I was shaking all over like I had been out in rain.

Erik was pulsating with madness. His eyes gleamed with it, his hands twitched, but his face, that was covered in a shroud of black fabric. He slammed the door behind himself and I clutched my legs tight enough to bruise.

"Good evening, my little Christine," he said. "What a pleasant opera that was. You sang better than you ever had before. The angels wept once again... But," he sighed sorrowfully, "you tried to deceive your poor Erik. And you lost his ring, which you swore you would never lose... Well, my deceitful Christine, I have a gift for you, as I always bring you gifts."

"Erik, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" I pleaded, shrinking further into the corner. "Please, please, I didn't mean to hurt you-"

"Didn't mean to hurt me?" He asked, his words coming out calm but his movements betraying that his mind was a thread about to snap. "What a curious notion, never hurt me..." He chuckled. "Never hurt your poor Erik... Well, have you ever been stabbed?"

I gave a choked sob, and he laughed hideously.

"Oh, no, that's not what I meant, my dear, I'm not going to hurt you, stop trembling... Is it cold down here for you? I have the a fire in the fireplace. Go on, warm yourself, we have much to discuss, much to _decide_ , and we mustn't tarry with this, for I've waited quite long enough... You're not cold, then? Then let me explain myself, as I always do to you when you ask. It felt like I had been stabbed... No, no, that's not quite right, I've been stabbed before, and this was far worse. A knife cannot do the harm that you did, when you said you were _fond_ of Erik, you called him your _friend,_ and that you looked upon him without fear and told him you didn't see his face anymore!... Well, we both know that's a lie, so I'll be wearing my mask until I die now, which I hope won't be prolonged." He cackled hideously. "You know what, my little Christine, I want you to put on the white dress I bought for you! How pretty you looked in it the other night, when you visited your _dear friend_ Erik, like an angel, an angel! And now you lie and betray me?... Now, don't take long. You don't need a bath, just the dress. You'd be tempted to drown yourself, and you need to be patient, for Erik loves you and wishes to give you whatever you want!"

"Then set me free," I pleaded.

He laughed, "Get dressed! Go on! Then I'll show you your gift!"

"What is m-my gift?"

"Oh, did I say gift? Gifts. Two of them. You get to choose your preference! Now get dressed."

"Please Erik-"

"Did you listen to Erik's pleas when he begged for your affections?!" He cried, bending over me. "Did you?! No! You ran away, like everyone! And you knew very well that he would die without you, even though you said," he started to mock my voice, "'take care of yourself while I'm gone, Erik,' 'you're my dearest friend, Erik,' 'let me look upon you without fear, Erik!' All a lie! You told the boy how much you despised and feared me! I heard, I was there, statues have keen ears, my dear! They told me, 'Christine doesn't love Erik! Christine hates and fears Erik and wants to run away!' And you would have run away, so now we shall be certain that you never can again!"

He cackled madly, and I slid away to my room, panting as I shut my door, my heart thudding in my throat.

The white dress was in my closet, and I snatched it out. I was weeping and trembling as I undid my costume and pulled on the evening gown I had only worn once. It had pearls on the collar, real pearls! And such fine fabric... soft as silk...

He would kill me in this dress. That's why he wanted me to wear it, to contrast the blood, oh, I couldn't bear it! What would he do to me? Lock me in the torture chamber?!

There was a knock on the door, and I jumped with fright.

"I have to see my banker!" Erik told me happily. "Get cleaned up and dressed, my little Christine, then you can open your gifts!"

He laughed hideously, slamming the door behind himself as he left the house. The sound resonated in my head like a bell, and I forced my hands over my ears to quiet it.

"Lord, help me," I pleaded, turning to the wall.

I couldn't die by his hand. I couldn't bear his madness! He would surely torment me for days if he saw fit, so I had to end this now.

I darted over to my dresser, rummaging around for the scissors. A cry of despair I didn't know I was capable of issued from my throat as I found he had removed them, and I turned to the Toile de Jouy wallpaper, my tongue dry.

I approached it fully, standing in front of the wall, not comprehending my own ideas. Without thought, without a word, I rammed my head against the surface, beneath which was stone. Then again I indulged this, screaming in pain. The metallic taste of blood dripped onto my lips and mingled with salt from my tears.

I did it again. And again, staining the Toile de Jouy like I had been careless with a glass of wine. But before I could make any more attempts to be rid of this hell, I fell unconscious.

 _Anges pure, anges radieux,_

 _Portez mon âme au sein des cieux!_

 _Dieu juste, à toi je m'abandonne!_

 _Dieu bon, je suis à toi, pardonne!_

"No, no, no," Erik said softly, though with seeming nonchalance, "not yet! Oh, my poor Christine, you can't kill yourself like that! How much it must have hurt... Now you have to be bound, what a shame that is! The greatest shame! But the world will be punished soon for it, very soon, unless you want the other, which you will not, no one wants the other..."

I blinked, my eyes heavy and my head pounding. I felt him pick me up and set me on a chair, and I turned to him in numb confusion, realizing that he was holding down my wrists. As my mind started to gain coherence, I gave a weak cry of protest at finding myself bound to a chair, unable to move.

"Oh, shh, shh, you can die later, don't worry." He promised me, sobbing. "B-but you have to be patient, just a little longer... U-unless you decide now for the other... Well... Let me explain, let me ask, how many people come to operas here, my dear, do you know?"

I blinked stupidly.

"What does it matter the quantity!" He cried, pacing the room and seemingly forgetting the fact that I had nearly died. "The finest in Paris! The counts and viscounts, dukes, marquis, and their jewel encrusted wives! All of them will be above us tomorrow, applauding Meyerbeer," he laughed, as if this were a joke, "and you, my dear, get to choose for them! What a difficult choice, too, but one you should make quite swiftly, seeing as how you have already attempted to."

"No," I pleaded softly. "Erik, no-"

"You've already decided? But I haven't told you your choices!..." He fidgeted in his timid way. "Marry me or kill everyone. Or, if you prefer something more artistic, a grand label, like an opera: the wedding mass or the requiem!"

I started to cry weakly, moaning.

"You have until eleven o'clock tomorrow to decide... Oh, don't cry, don't cry, it'll be over by then. You should be happy! You can choose! And you only have to be patient if you want Erik to choose for you, for he cannot deny his little Christine, or you could choose yourself!... Death or Erik!" He cackled. "Death or living death! My little Christine, choose!"

Then he went out of the room for a moment, leaving me alone to try and think. My head was throbbing, but I started to gain coherence.

Choose, Christine...

How many people would be above us? A thousand? Hundreds? Oh, what did it matter the amount? I could kill them, however Erik planned to do so, and be free... free in hell... Or live in hell here and hope for heaven upon my death, whenever that would occur.

But I didn't think I could live with Erik for that long. I would go as mad as him!

But a thousand people... A thousand people...

Heaven help me.

He came back in, falling to his knees in a way that made me turn my head rather than look upon him.

"Is marriage to Erik so terrible?" He asked pitifully. "Would you rather die with me and everyone else? You could be quite happy with me if you tried, quite happy, with pretty things to wear and a lovely house to keep, a perfectly normal house... But that is too much for me to ask! Not for a man like Erik, if he is a man at all... Perhaps he is not at all... Why do you make him wait?! Why must you be patient now?! The wedding mass, or the requiem!"

I started to cry quietly into my shoulder.

"Why do you cry?" He asked. "You know it pains me to see you cry!"

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **Dark!fic here we go...**


	2. Chapter 2: Cards

He started rambling on and on about the joys of marriage while I could do no more than stare at the dark stain on the wallpaper that I had created. His dark figure paced back and forth in front of me, trailing a twitching shadow upon the floorboards.

"Why do you not look at me?" He demanded suddenly, snapping me out of my daze. "When I am masked, and you would look at me before without?"

His gold eyes, in the two black abysses they resided in, found where my gaze was directed.

"Forgive me," he said politely, as if apologizing to callers about a missed spot of dust.

He left me alone again, and I fought with my restraints, whimpering as I felt them dig into my wrists, burning. I gave a moan of despair, kicking my feet like a petulant child.

He returned with a bucket and rag, mopping up the spot on the wall and leaving behind a wet splotch, darker than the surrounding wallpaper, but no longer crimson. Once satisfied, he turned around to me and finally realized, as he was quite mad at that point, that I had been resisting my restraints.

"Oh, your poor wrists!" He moaned, falling to his knees before me.

I removed my eyes from him in disgust, horror, and still pity. The situation was pitiful... hopeless...

A thousand people dead, or my soul...

I knew my choice, the only choice that I could possibly make, but I... I couldn't say it! How could I condemn myself with my own tongue? And I was not saving the audience that would return tomorrow night, for I had cursed them the moment I lost Erik's ring, and the moment I had tried to flee.

"Erik, would you please release me?" I asked, interrupting his distress over the state of my wrists.

He averted his eyes, replying sadly, "You would try to kill yourself again."

"You've given me until tomorrow night... They hurt-"

"Of course, oh, they must hurt, my poor little Christine, let me free you..." He began to, gingerly, untie me. "Though I have no trust in you, surely you can see reason... You have until eleven o'clock tomorrow night to wait, surely you can be patient... and then you only have one word to say 'no' and it will be all over, with everyone!"

The ropes fell, and I clutched my wrists to my chest in sudden, inexplicable fear that he would bind them again.

"Oh, that deserves death, my Christine," he moaned, his eyes latching onto the angry red marks. "Do you want a balm for them?... Or do you no longer care?"

"A balm," I told him quietly.

"Ah, but I cannot leave you here alone... Would you like to see the kitchen? It's curious, you know, rather curious. And as we'll surely be dead by tomorrow night, you ought to see everything in my charming house before then."

My wrists burned, so I found myself nodding. He gave a gesture and took me through a door hidden in plain sight in the dining room. I had known there was a kitchen, simply never been permitted inside, or even seen him enter or exit most of the time. But now his bony hand beckoned me inside, and I held my hands to my neck, nearly choking myself, as it was comforting to have them there.

My eyes widened. On one side of the room was a typical kitchen, complete with a door that must lead into the wine cellar. On the other, two long tables were set up, and above and behind them, mismatched cabinets in mahogany, chestnut, oak, all fashioned differently. The tables were set with a few closed books, the one on the top of the stack seeming to be in Latin, and a variety of instruments of glass and metal. Most I had no idea as to the purpose of, save the differently shaped glass bottles. They must hold liquids to mix.

"Do you want to see what those do?" He inquired as he removed a silver cylindrical container from the chestnut cabinet. "Are you quite curious, my little Christine?"

"N-no," I said hastily.

He gave a sort of nod at this, prying open the container.

"Am I permitted to touch your hands now?" He asked.

To appease him, I extended my trembling hands to him, and replied, "Be gentle, please."

"Of course, my little Christine, I could never bear the thought of hurting you."

He dipped his finger into the balm, then placed it upon my sores, careful to apply no pressure. But as he began the second, I winced.

"Forgive me," he pleaded, returning my wrists to me once they were covered in a translucent white substance.

The sensation was cool, and I would have sighed in relief had I not been fully aware of my plight.

"Let me show you my instruments," he told me, then he chuckled, " _scientific_ instruments, mind you. There are no violins and harps among these... Do you want to see? _Petite curieuse_?"

"No, please, I want to go ba-"

"Oh, but we have until eleven o'clock tomorrow!" He said, already rummaging through the cabinets and pulling out glass jars and silver containers. "After this, oh, after this I could show you card tricks! Ventriloquism! What fun you would have with me, you know, if we married. You would never be bored with me, I assure you, never... Is that not enough? Aren't most women bored with marriage, as men seem to always complain of? I would never complain, of course, I would love you forever. Not many men can promise that except for me. And- and!- I would be entirely faithful husband until the day I die- no, better, a devoted husband, who would want no more than to sit at your feet, my dear, as I did not so long ago... Now let me show you... Oh, what should I show you? How much do you know of science?"

"Very little... I think."

"Do you like colors? Pick a color, I'll make it appear."

"Erik, I don't-"

"Pick!"

"Purple, I suppose."

He chuckled, "You make this too easy, far too easy. You'll find this quite fun, you know, let me procure one last thing... It's quite pretty, I've only done it a few times before out of boredom, but stay back a little ways, over there, it's not particularly safe."

"What?" I squeaked.

"Oh, do you want to be burned by it?" He inquired, as if he had neglected to think of this.

I shook my head.

"Good, because all it would do is burn you, and you've already been hurt far too much, and anyone who harms you deserves a cruel death... Let me prepare it."

"But Erik, I don't want to see it, please, I don't want to-"

"You don't?" He asked, ceasing measuring out something that smelled of ammonia.

"No, I don't."

"Well, what do you propose instead?" He said, sealing the container.

"You act like this is a game."

He chuckled, " _I_ act as if this is a game, _I_ act... Do you want to play a game? Chess?"

"I want to sleep," I moaned.

"Sleep?" He asked as he put away the containers. "How can you sleep with such a decision weighing down your mind? Unless you have already decided?"

After a moment of hesitation, I nodded, my eyes on the stone floor.

"Ah, which?" He asked, rather nonchalant.

"Which one do you think?" I retorted. "The only one that's sensible."

"I believe it's sensible and fitting as well," he agreed, "for us both to be buried beneath the opera house."

"Buried? W-what about-?"

"Did I not say? Oh, my mind is quite occupied! Quite occupied! I cannot remember such simple explanations anymore... If you say no, to my proposal, then everyone will be dead and _buried_."

"I don't understand-"

"Then attempt to!... If you have no ideas for passing the time, my dear, then we should play chess, I think. That is certainly a fine game for the mind, to help you with your choice-"

"I know my choice!" I shouted.

"I know you do, my dear, there's no need to shout to reaffirm this. But you simply must wait until the opera house is filled again tomorrow-"

"You think I would kill all those people?"

He was silent for a moment, "What are you saying?"

"How could I kill all those innocent people?"

"How could you marry Erik?" He shot back, flying into rage. "'He fills me with horror!' That's what you said, I heard you?! How can you marry someone who fills you with horror?! Kill everyone, bury us, end this misery! You told the boy that you were in terror and misery, so now I am! Now you must choose!"

My lips parted to speak, but nothing issued. I tried anew, "I cannot kill those people."

"And you cannot marry me. What a lovely decision you have to make! How can you? Perhaps you cannot, and I shall choose for you come eleven o'clock."

"But Erik, I've already made my choice, I just said-"

"That you cannot kill everyone or marry me."

"No, I didn't say that! You're putting words in my mouth!"

"You more than hinted at the second, and you did say the first..."

I exhaled irritably, "It's like you don't want me to marry you."

He laughed, "It was different before, you see, quite different, what with love reciprocal- but let's play chess now, prepare your mind for its task."

"Erik, you'll just win-"

"Of course."

"That's no fun."

"I won't try very hard, then."

"But I don't want to... Could you show me card tricks?"

His eyes lit up, "Of course, my dear, if that is your preference... Come into the drawing room."

I followed him, my mind tearing itself apart as my head throbbed. At least my wrists no longer burned...

"Come sit," he told me, gesturing to the sofa. "You know I was a magician, am a magician, don't you?"

I shook my head gently, "Not really."

"But I'm not a sorcerer, I deal with science, my little Christine, science of the mind... See? I'm putting this card- the queen of hearts- into my hand. Now tell me, where is it?"

"In your hand?"

He laughed, showing two empty hands to me, "No, try again. Guess!"

My head pounded in my ears, but I gestured behind him to the fireplace mantle.

"But how could it be there?" He inquired. "Did you see me turn round to place it there?"

I shook my head, and he promptly pulled the same card as earlier out from behind a glazed porcelain tortoise. He had such odd knick-knacks in his house...

I realized I needed to please him, so I clapped my hands, ignoring the hot pain in my wrists caused by this action. He beamed madly, and I restrained a shudder threatening to course through me.

"Now, how many cards are in a deck?" Erik asked of me, coming directly in front of the sofa.

"I don't play cards," I replied.

"Guess."

"Fifty?"

"Fifty-two, very close, my little Christine. Now, how many are here? Count for me, just to be sure, a second pair of eyes. I can only perform with a full deck."

I spread them out with trembling hands. One, two, three-

"A wife to entertain," Erik sighed as I counted. "How wonderful that would be, to have a normal house with ordinary doors and windows, and a wife inside it. Any other man has a wife whom he can adore and take to the park on Sundays, but other men cannot do what I can! We can play music as much as we like, all day, until we swoon away with delight..." he sighed again, and I was trembling so terribly I had to start counting over again. "And when you became tired with that, I could entertain you quite well with tricks like these... Oh, have you started over? Counting twice for good measure? We do have until eleven o'clock tomorrow, and we must fill that time..."

"I think one is missing," I told him.

"But where is it?" He chuckled, reaching behind my ear.

I pushed myself back against the cushions with fright, and he laughed, his bony hand now clutching the two of spades.

"I wonder how you could sing with that inside your ear?" He said, now shuffling the deck. "Are you cold? You're shaking again."

"A little," I lied.

He gestured to the fire, "Or perhaps excited by your decision?"

I crept over in front of the flames, wishing they would swallow me up. He stood over me, his hands now devoid of cards.

"Are we done playing?" I questioned.

"Do you want to continue-?"

"No, please... I'm tired."

"You could decide now, and sleep."

Tears welled up behind my eyes, but I forced them back painfully.

"Erik," I said cautiously, "as we have until eleven o'clock tomorrow... Won't you tell me about yourself?"

"You already know about Erik," he retorted. "My poor unhappy mother despised me, so I ran away to become a magician, and then an architect here."

"But what all have you seen? Where have you traveled-?"

"So now that there is a deadline, Erik should throw away all the rules he made down here?! Do you forget? Perhaps you hit your head hard enough to forget, allow me to remind you: do not pry into Erik's secrets."

"Why?"

He chuckled, "Why? Why, my darling? My little Christine? Why indeed? Why is such an intriguing question... Why should we die tomorrow night, when you could simply say the impossible words, 'I shall marry Erik!' and then sleep, as you so desire?"

I mouthed the words, but my voice caught in my throat.

"Why do you mumble again?" He inquired. "You've never mumbled before, you're always quite loud and obstinate to Erik. Most husbands wouldn't like a wife like that, you know, wives are supposed to be quiet, after all. But I would never silence you. You could speak as much as you want as my wife, as much as you want! Your voice is so lovely, my dear little Christine, it would be a shame for any man to silence it-"

"No man would've. I told you before; I never wish to marry."

He cackled madly, "So you were to be a mistress to the little vicomte? After all, you were trying to flee Erik, when he had done nothing but love and care for you with all his being... No? You didn't want to be a mistress? Then forgive me, what did he hope to gain?"

"That doesn't matter now-"

"Nothing matters, that is why you will say it now. What did he hope to gain?"

"Yes, Erik," I said, taking a shuddering breath, "I planned to marry him..."

"Aha! You admit it, and you are such a _truthful_ , _good_ girl, my Christine, so I _have_ to take you at your word."

I rose, smoothing down my white skirts. I needed to put this to rest, just say the words, say them, save everyone now, then you can sleep, Christine...

How could I sleep ever again? It would be in eternal sleep or lying awake in fear!

How miserable it was to always be afraid...

"Why are you silent?" Erik asked. "Are you bored? I won't let you be bored, come, let me show you some ventriloquism to pass the time-"

"I'll marry you," I whispered, my heart threatening to tear apart.

"What was that?"

I hurled the words at him before I could think, "I'll marry you!"

He had died, turned to stone like in mythology, for he did not blink, nor breathe, and I could've sworn his heart had ceased beating. The mad gleam in his golden eyes had vanished.

"What?" He asked, his voice a wisp.

"You heard m-me," I said pitifully. "Won't you please let me sleep now?"

"You... must open your gift first."

Why did he have to torment me further? Hadn't I given him what he wanted?


	3. Chapter 3: Gifts

He gestured mechanically towards the Louis-Philippe room, and though perhaps a little mad myself at that point, I followed him. I knew better than to test him now.

"Did you notice these earlier?" He asked, his voice faint.

"Notice what?" I replied, equally weak.

I followed his hand, which pointed towards two ebony caskets upon the mantle of the fireplace.

"No, I didn't," I told him.

"One holds a scorpion, which you'll turn if you choose to marry me." He explained. "The other, a grasshopper, you may turn to kill everyone... Aren't they pretty? Both cleverly imitated in Japanese bronze... such pretty little gifts..."

"Which is which?" I asked, turning to him. Then I turned back, "Oh-!"

Both little caskets were now open, revealing their contents. I could choose which one to be buried in...

I placed my trembling hands, which were threatening to fall apart, upon the cold surface of the scorpion, but found myself unable to turn it.

"Do you promise...?" I asked pitifully, my eyes welling up. "That we'll live in a normal house?"

"Choose," he replied quietly, as if it was all he could manage.

Fear was ice in my veins; it froze my muscles, and my hands refused to turn that dreadful bronze creature. But if I chose, I could sleep... Perhaps he would leave me alone for a time... And he had said he would take me on walks in the park, surely he wouldn't keep me trapped down here for eternity?

I couldn't kill all those people... But I couldn't marry Erik... I couldn't do _either_!

My hands slipped from the surface, and I turned to Erik, my heart beating like a butterfly caught between a child's fingers. His eyes glowed once more.

"Oh?" He told me, his voice causing me to shudder. "You lied again, my Christine?"

I shook my head, my fingernails gripping the wallpaper behind my back.

"But you will not turn it," he said.

I found my back pressed up into the corner of the room, but I shook my head again, "I will, I will, I need to think-"

"You lied!" He cried. "Why do you enjoy tormenting me? Just because I'm ugly, my heart is worth nothing to you? Perhaps you think I do not have one?"

"You do, you do-"

"Of course I do! How can I love you without a heart?"

I collapsed into the corner, burying my head in my knees, "Please, leave me alone, let me decide alone, I'll turn it, please-"

"No!" He cried. "Why you deceitful little thing! You would turn the grasshopper before eleven o'clock tomorrow!"

"No, no-"

"That is why you want to be alone!... You promised to marry Erik, now turn the scorpion to seal it!"

I sobbed hysterically into my skirts, attempting to dissolve into the wall behind me. Erik's shadow went away from me, pacing silently, back and forth, back and forth, faster and faster, winding himself up like a toy to snap.

"Well?!" He cried, startling me.

I nodded, rising and finding myself suddenly in the same position as before, the scorpion beneath my hand.

Was there symbolism to this? Some mad symbolism? The scorpion... would sting me... But the grasshopper...? _saute?_

Oh, oh, _saute!_ Hops or explodes! There was a bomb, some sort of bomb, that was how he would kill everyone, that was why! He had set up a bomb, of course, that was like him, to make a joke out of death...

Before I realized what I had done, the scorpion had turned, and a hideous hissing noise emerged from the torture chamber. I cried out in fear. Had he lied? Had he tricked me into murdering us both?

"You chose Erik..." he whispered. "You didn't choose to die..."

My head spun, my stomach churning with nausea. I could feel myself falling away, oh, please, let me faint away and escape all of this for a mere moment...

I realized the hissing noise was water before the world dissolved.

When I woke, I found myself in the center of the bed in the Louis-Philippe room. My limbs were not bound, but I could've moved more had they been.

How long had I been unconscious? That was when I glanced to the marble-topped nightstand beside the bed and found a piece of parchment with the childish red scrawl I dreaded upon it.

But I stared back up at the ceiling, watching how the flickering candle he had left for me danced upon it. I supposed I could set myself on fire at some point... only if absolutely necessary, though, for that was one of the worst ways to die, I had heard. Drowning was the most merciful, painless, though terrifying...

There was no possibility, however, that he would leave his wife unattended. Perhaps he would tire of me after a while? Like children with their toys? Then there was hope...

The door opened, and I pushed my back into the headboard, my heart still thudding from adrenaline. Erik had a silver tray with what appeared to be lunch on it, as well as a tiny cup-like vase filled with daisies. He set this beside me.

It surprised me that he was still masked.

"Do you want lunch, my wife?" He asked kindly.

"Fiancée," I replied, my voice weak.

"Fiancée," he whispered. "Do you not want to eat? You haven't eaten in almost a day now."

"I wonder why?" I mumbled, but he ignored this.

"My little fiancée is nervous for her wedding tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"In the morning..."

"Where?"

"Here."

 _Here?_

"But..." I said, confused, "that doesn't make any sense. What about the Madeleine, or-?"

"You would run away, or scream..." He replied with a sigh, lightly caressing the petal of a daisy.

"I wouldn't."

He chuckled bitterly, "Eat your breakfast, my dear... Oh! Oh, one moment, I have a gift for you..."

Not another one... He dug his spindly fingers into the pocket of his jacket and withdrew a silver ring set with a little, but finely cut sapphire.

"This one's prettier than the other, perhaps you won't lose it," he told me, placing it on my finger and caressing the jewel.

I pulled my hand away as if burned, and he sighed, going to the ajar door.

"I expect to see that you made an attempt to eat," he said, not needing a specific threat. His cold voice was enough.

The door shut quietly behind him as he left, and I pulled the tray onto my lap, exhaling through my mouth. Then I glanced down at the ring.

I removed it from my finger and placed it atop the nightstand, unable to bear its fragile weight. I ate as much as I could, though I didn't taste a morsel.

Where was Raoul? How was he? Was he concerned about his poor Christine, trapped beneath the opera house?

He was so fragile, not knowing about the difficulties of life, and even being clueless as to the world being more than black and white. I had introduced him to a far crueler world than he knew, one in which nothing was white, nor black. My world was gray, for no one was perfect, nor perfectly evil. I certainly was not this angel Erik worshiped, for I had hesitated to sacrifice myself for the wellbeing of perhaps a thousand people. And Erik was not evil, only the product of cruelty. Now Raoul had to experience losing a loved one; I was as good as dead down there.

My door opened, startling me into tipping over my vase of daisies. He righted it calmly.

"What type of wedding dress would you like?" He asked, seeming to be grinning beneath his mask. "Or will the evening gown do?"

"I don't want a wedding dress," I replied.

"Propriety forbids a woman wearing nought but a veil to walk down the aisle, my dear."

I kept my eyes in my lap.

"The evening gown, then," he said, unfazed. "And a veil, of course. Any preference?"

"Why do I need a gown and veil?" I demanded. "We're not going to the Madeleine."

"Why must you remind me?" He whimpered.

"I won't honor the marriage unless we're married in a church."

"But you would run away! You don't keep promises anymore, when you were so good before... You always came back when you promised, always..."

Something lit in his eyes, which sought out mine.

"We shall be married at the Madeleine," he told me, giddy. "Yes, we shall! Or else our lone wedding guest will require a requiem..."

"Wedding guest?" I asked, horrified as to what this could mean. "What wedding guest?"

"Guess!"

"I'm tired of guessing!" I pleaded, my eyes welling up and stinging. "Won't you please tell me, Erik? Why do you keep me in the dark and torment me?"

"In the dark? You're not in the dark, see? I left you a candle, how thoughtful of a husband I can be!"

"You know it's a metaphor."

He averted his eyes for a moment, then they met mine again, gleaming, "You want me to tell you who our wedding guest is?"

"Yes... please."

"But I thought you liked the little novels I bought you, the frivolous mysteries... Do you not want a little suspense? You want the ending revealed now?"

"Yes, now."

He sighed discontentedly, picking a speck of dust off my quilted blankets, "I want to make my wife happy, of course, even if she doesn't want to make me... Our guest is a dear friend of yours."

"The vicomte?"

"Hm..." he mocked. "Vicomte? Not, _dear_ Raoul, _darling_ Raoul?"

"What do you mean, wedding guest?"

"He shall remain in this house while we go to the Madeleine, and if your performance for the ceremony is not satisfactory, I'll show you how the torture chamber works. Our guest will, of course, assist me in this endeavor."

My hands trembled, "But you'll let him go? When I marry you at the church, you'll let him go?"

"Of course. Wouldn't you cry if I didn't? I don't like it when you cry..."

"Yes, I would, I would cry so much I would drown... W-where is he now?"

"In the communard dungeon..." He told me, now irritable. "I don't want to discuss our guest anymore."

"C-could you tell me about the house-?"

"Would you like a wedding mass?" He asked innocently.

"A wedding mass...? But you can't play it during the ceremony-"

"No, no, after, as a wedding gift. You'll have lots of wedding gifts, you know, so you can be comfortable as my wife."

"I... I think that's fine... But won't you have to compose it?"

"Only the end. I've finished the rest."

"When did you write it?"

He gave a noncommittal shrug.

"And what of the house?" I pressed again.

"I should finish the piece," he said, picking up my tray.

As he turned to leave, he spun around on his heels without warning to threaten, "If you try to kill yourself again we won't have a wedding guest tomorrow, nor a ceremony at the Madeleine. You promised to marry me."

I nodded weakly, and he left. I must have been asleep for quite a while if there had been enough time for him to find Raoul and capture him...

My tears forced their way out, and I promptly collapsed into a shuddering mess. I buried my head in my pillow to muffle my sobs, horrified that Erik could rush in upon hearing me and begin to weep as well.

"Raoul..." I whimpered. "Raoul..."

I had to trust Erik's word that he would be freed, and Erik's word was rarely more truthful than mine had been of late. Surely he would release Raoul for me... I could always plead for it as a wedding gift, if not...

Or...? Or had he...? But he couldn't have, no, no, he couldn't have! Why would he? Surely he was sensible enough not to... Erik? Sensible?

When he came in again, after a few hours of pounding out terrifying and awe-inspiring music, I stood up from the bed, crossing my arms.

"Why are you doing that?" Erik inquired.

"I want to see our guest..." I demanded. "Please."

"But we're too busy with wedding preparations for that. Are you hungry at all?"

"Of course not, I ate mere hours ago. What I want is for you to prove to me that our guest is safe."

He clucked his tongue, "Behave, my dear, it's a nuisance when you act like this."

I was quivering with indignity, "Why would you deny your wife such a small request?"

"My fiancée," he retorted venomously. "Would you like to go down to the communard's dungeon? Would you? Alone in the dark with Erik, doesn't that sound like _fun_?"

My hands wrapped up around my throat, and I shook my head.

"There." He said, triumphant. "I'm looking after my wife, see? What terrible husband I would be to take you down into the dark, how afraid you are of the dark, my poor Christine, that's why I left the candle. How well I know you, husbands should know their wives well, to anticipate their needs."

"I'm thirsty," I whispered, perhaps intending to mock him, but my voice was too weak.

"What for?"

"Water, just water..."

He left to get it for me, and I went into the bathroom. He had no mirrors in his room, but I had a single one in there. The edges were in metal woven like vines, with delicate leaves about this frame, all painted in pure white. I had cried during my captivity over it about how horrible it must have been for him to put it up, unable to avoid the ruin that was his face. Perhaps he had worn a mask...

Now I gazed upon my own features. I raised my hand to the purple and brown mark that bled over my forehead. There was still a bit of dried blood upon it, so I picked up a white towel with trembling hands, wet it, and pressed the cool surface to the brown flecks. My reflection stared back at me with wide eyes and a pale mouth.

Once my task was complete, I stumbled over to my bed, suddenly consumed by a cold chill that seemed inside my soul, expanding to my limbs like a disease. I collapsed upon my sheets and stared up at the ceiling, too exhausted to cry.

What was to become of me?


	4. Chapter 4: Voices

**This fic is actually going into my first idea for Lilacs. It was just too dark for what I wanted, as Lilacs wasn't supposed to be a complete downer. This fic, however, should be a full-on dark fic.**

 **Fyi, the rating will not change.**

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The door opened, but I made no movement save blinking. Erik came to my side, a glass of water in his bony hands and his gold eyes soft behind his mask.

"See how your fiancé cares for you?" He told me, his voice ringing with contentment. "How much more when I'm your husband."

I continued staring.

"Do you not want the water you requested?" He asked.

I made no sign.

"I'll take it away, then, if you're so inclined to send me on useless errands-"

"No, no," I argued, sitting upright, "I-I want it, please."

His gold eyes flashed, and I nearly thought he was going to leave without acquiescing. But he began to hand the glass to me, then snatched my bare left hand.

"Where is it?" He hissed. "Where-? On your nightstand, but you didn't take a bath... Do you not like it, then? It's the finest cut of sapphire, if you would like to know, no blemishes, and you discard it simply because-"

"No," I argued desperately, searching for an explanation. "It's beautiful, I-I was watching it catch the light before, and I... forgot to replace it."

His eyes flickered with disbelief, but he placed it back upon my finger, caressing it, "Don't remove it again save for baths."

I nodded, swallowing a lump that had formed in my throat. He handed me my glass of water.

"T-thank you," I whispered. "Would you tell me about the marriage? I'm a little frightened."

"Oh, not frightened, why should you be frightened?" He replied, pacing about the room and halting when he wished to emphasize. "You're merely anxious... You shouldn't fear my face anymore, and when have I been anything but careful with you, my little Christine?"

"You hurt me before, when I unmasked you."

"It was your own fault you were foolish enough to reveal my face, though it's a terrible shame you were harmed... You shouldn't have been, never, not even for that... But you're wiser now, much wiser, and you know I would rather die than hurt you."

I extended my wrists to him, which were beginning to bruise in colorful rings.

"Those are your own doing as well," he said, keeping his gaze from them. "You would've killed yourself... But our marriage will have none of that, no pain, so long as you're a good girl like you try to be. It won't be very different from how it was before, only, as my wife," he paused to savor this thought, "you shall have fine dresses to wear, jewelry, shoes-"

"Can I visit people, a-as your wife?"

"No," he told me, with decision. "You'll remain with your husband... How wonderful it will be to never be alone! I've been alone all my life, even when people were near me, because they despised or feared me, but you are kind to me, and tolerate me... Once you learn marriage is not so terrible, perhaps you'll love me. After all, it'll be wonderful for you! You never need fear anything as my wife- that's what a good husband does, never gives his wife any worries. You can stay home and read all the books you like, and knit, or whatever you want to occupy your time with. And when I'm home, which will be often, as I love you, I'll entertain you so you'll never be bored... There, are you still anxious?"

"What about the house?"

He hesitated, ceasing his pacing.

"It may take me a month to find the perfect home for you," he told me quietly. "After all, you will spend much of your life, if not all, inside it, so it has to be acceptable to you..."

"I don't mind so long as I'm away from here."

"It's not so terrible down here. Isn't your room lovely?" He offered, gesturing around at it. "The furnishings are all antique, you know, some priceless, even. Aren't the trinkets pretty? The mother-of-pearl, doesn't it reflect the candlelight marvelously?"

"I hate this place."

His hand twitched, and he said sorrowfully, "I'm going to compose more of our wedding mass now..."

He shut the door behind himself, and I remained lying down atop my bed, without the will to move. His playing reverberated in my ears until they numbed and I feared I might never hear another sound again. But perhaps that was preferable, as without this essential ability for my craft, he might let me go.

A few hours later I realized my hair was damp upon my pillow, and I was in a blue dress instead of white. I must have bathed and changed at some point, but I couldn't remember. The roar of the organ had drowned my very actions out.

He finally ceased, but I suddenly wished he would continue as I heard his footsteps make their way to my door. He knocked thrice before entering.

"Did you take a nap?" He asked, coming to the side of my bed with his head cocked slightly in curiosity.

I stared up at the ceiling as I had before. It was quite easy to ignore him, since the music seemed to have planted a bee in my head.

"Won't you answer your fiancé?" He whimpered. "I only want to please you... I could bring you dinner if you're hungry."

I blinked to hold back my tears, silent. Erik waved his hand over my face to be sure I could hear him, and I turned onto my side, away from him.

He sunk to his knees beside the bed and tugged at the covers with his spindly fingers, causing me to shift slightly towards him.

"Why do you ignore me?" He pleaded. "My own mother ignored me all the time because of my hideousness, but you're braver than she, so why do you turn away? When I'm masked, why?"

I felt him pull the blankets swiftly under me, so I rolled to the side, curling up and sobbing. To think I had tears left...

"Do I have a dead wife after all?!" He lamented, causing me to hug my legs. "A dead wife for the living corpse?!"

I sobbed harder, trembling, and his ragged breathing slowed. The floor creaked as he rose.

"Don't cry," he pleaded, coming around to me. "Don't cry, it pains me... Won't you stand up? I'll replace your blankets if you stand up."

I sniffled into the bedsheets beneath me.

"Would you like me to pay a visit to our guest?" He inquired coldly. "Stand up, my little Christine... Don't cry, you mustn't cry..."

Something in his tone propelled my feet to the floor, but I swayed where I stood.

"How anxious you are, my bride," he said with whatever sympathy he possessed. "Come sit in the drawing room and permit me to distract you. You won't cry if you forget your worries, and they truly are needless... I've wanted a wife for all the time I've known what one was, so I'm certain I can value you well, far better than anyone... How I love you, my Christine! Would you like to be sure? Do you want a profession of it? Poems? Sonnets? Songs? Oh, I would write music only for you if you asked!... Why do you cry harder? Those words in the mouth of any other man would make you swoon."

I choked on my tears some more. He approached me with a handkerchief and began to dab at my cheeks with it as I shrunk myself to the smallest size I could.

His hand withdrew, "There... Don't add any more, your eyes are all red now, my poor Christine... Why don't we go read? You used to love reading together while I sat at your feet... Although wives normally occupy that position... Come into the drawing room."

He gestured and followed behind me. I found my way over to the bookcase, running my fingertips down the spines of the numerous novels, journals, and organized whatnot that lined his mahogany bookshelves. The titles blurred together in my vision until I placed my hands over my eyes. The buzz in my ears had dulled, but the lack of sight increased its fury in my head.

I withdrew to the sofa, my hands empty, unaware as to how I would be able to read anything ever again, with my mind in such a state.

"Do you want me to pick a book for you?" Erik inquired.

I nodded blankly, my arms about myself.

"And I would quite like to read it to you," he said. "You always read your books to me when I asked, how kind you were..."

He came in front of me with a book the color of red wax, and stared, as if he expected something from me. Then I remembered his earlier suggestion, that we trade places, and the fact that Raoul was his captive.

I needed to behave until the wedding, then after Erik released him, I could resist. Until then, with my poor Raoul's life in my hands, I would gladly serve any of Erik's whims if I knew my love was protected.

So I placed a gold-tasseled cushion onto the Persian carpet and sat down upon it, leaning my head back against the sofa. Perhaps he would allow me to shut my eyes and listen to the buzzing noise in my head rather than his intoxicating voice.

"How kind you are," he praised, evidently delighted. "Are you comfortable there, though, my little fiancée?"

I nodded weakly, "What book?"

"Alice in Wonderland."

"That's a children's book."

"No," he argued, "plenty of adults read it."

"You always buy me new ones to read..." I whined dejectedly, but then I caught myself. "It's fine, please read to me."

His voice was music, and the book tedious to my strained mind, so I found my eyelids growing heavy. I should've known not to fall asleep in such close proximity to him; I was simply too tired to resist.

Erik was unaware that I was asleep, so I woke from tumbling onto the carpet as he rose. He gave a small cry of alarm, but I insisted I was fine, and he went off to make me dinner.

Perhaps being at his feet shouldn't have frightened me as it did, but it was vastly different from his earlier behavior, where I was an untouchable angel, and he was a worthless beast. Now, I was beneath him. He seemed to enjoy the thought of being in complete control over me. Wives were meant to be submissive, and he knew I was far from that. Did he mean to break me?

I already felt broken...

"Come sit down, my dear," he called from the dining room, pulling out a chair for me.

I sat down with my hands clasped in my lap. I could only imagine how miserable I appeared, bruised and pale, my lips pressed hard together.

"Are you not going to eat, my darling?" Erik asked, disappointed. "Don't you like prawns?"

I nodded weakly, "I do... Does our guest have food?"

"Enough, if it contents you to know... But I already told you, no discussion of him."

"Could I do something so he could have more? A-and a blanket-?"

"Did I not just say," he said coldly, "that there shall be no more discussion of him?"

I averted my eyes to my dinner and was silent as I ate. Erik rose at one point to adjust the glazed tortoise atop the mantlepiece, but other than that, his eyes were always upon me.

"You said we'll..." I hesitated for a moment, glancing down at my remaining vegetables, "go to the park when we're married. What shall we do?"

His eyes lit, "We'll take walks in the park together on Sundays, and other days if you so desire. I've always wanted to have a wife beside me, on my arm, like any other man would. And what a perfect wife you shall be... Are you anxious about that?"

"I don't think I'll be a perfect wife at all..."

"Why not?"

"You know me, Erik. How can a woman who doesn't want to marry be a proper wife?"

"You don't have to be a proper wife, but you'll be a perfect wife, because I love you. Oh, my Christine, how I love you! Marry me and I'll show you more, so much more! I've never been allowed to love a woman, and now that I can, how wonderful it'll be for you! You'll want for nothing with me as your husband, nothing at all... I only want a wife... I want sweet, brave little Christine as my wife and I'll be happy... I wonder what it's like to be truly happy. I was happy as your angel, but not fully, as you couldn't see me..." He glanced at my plate. "Are you finished?"

I placed my hands in my lap and nodded. As he took my plate away, I returned to my room, falling down atop my bed and suffocating in the quilted sheets.

"Christine?" Erik called. "Why did you leave? You've already had a nap, come sing for me."

I lifted my head, balancing it atop my fingertips as I stared at the wall in front of me.

He came into my room without knocking, "Are you still nervous, my fiancée?"

At hearing no reply, he came around to the other side of my bed, kneeling down to be level with my eyes. There was so much expression in those terrifying gold eyes of his. The darkness they resided in could grow and dissipate, revealing anger, fear, joy, everything a normal man would display.

That was when we heard a _thump!_ in the torture chamber.

"Who has come calling?" Erik said, chuckling to himself. "Hello? Who has come to disturb Erik?... Oh, don't be shy, you're safe should you have no nose... If not..." he chuckled again and waited for a reply. "Well? Who are you, why have you come into my torture chamber?"

Silence still.

He sighed, "The fool is probably unconscious... One moment, my dear, I need to get something."

He left the room, and I heard a whisper, "Mademoiselle Daaé?"

"Who are you, monsieur?" I asked. "Why are you here?"

"I'm Persian man you've seen around the opera house, I'm here save you."

"It's too late, I've promised to marry him... Were you with Raoul, by any chance?"

"He fell and hit his head. I had to take him to his brother, and they delayed me longer than I had intended, far longer... He hasn't hurt you, has he?"

"My wounds are my own doing, no. But Raoul was captured by Erik. He told me so."

"That's not possible. His brother was taking him home last I saw him. He needed a doctor."

"W-what do you mean?" I pleaded, filling with hope. "Oh, please, monsieur, he lives? He's free?"

"Yes. He should be fine."

"Oh, thank you, but you must go, quickly, before Er-"

The door opened, and Erik strode in and grabbed my wrist with a bony and unrelenting hold.

"Go into the drawing room and amuse yourself," he told me. "I have some business to attend to with our other guest."

"No, no, you can't-"

He began to drag me, and I kicked and screamed, pleading with him. It was perfectly useless, and soon I was locked outside the door, pounding my fists against the surface.

He was going to torture the Persian!


	5. Chapter 5: Reds

**Apologies for the wait. This chapter took a while to come to me, but I think it was worth it. I don't know how Christine survives this chapter as well as she does, to be honest. She won't catch a break in this fic, and certainly not now.**

 **Oh, and this is just a request from me. I'd prefer no cursing in the comments. I'm glad you all are so enthusiastic, though, but it's just a personal preference. Thanks!**

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Thud... thud... thud...

My hands were trembling from exertion. My whole body threatened to collapse from all the forces waging war against it.

There had been infrequent noises behind the door, quiet conversations, a sentence or two, and the sounds of a desert. The last made me think I was going mad. It didn't seem that far-fetched after everything that I would be imagining sounds.

Without warning came Erik's cry of rage, "You spoke to my WIFE?!"

I found myself backing away from the door in terror of what new horrors awaited me. The door swung open, revealing a skull atop skeletal shoulders that showed through the black impeccable attire.

I promptly shrieked and pulled myself away from the sight, but the specter grabbed my arms and took me inside, shutting the door behind me. An attempted turn of the handle and I found I was locked in. My throat produced a choked sound that I only realized was my own a moment following.

"You know this man, don't you?" Erik asked, his voice the tip of an icicle. "Don't you, my Christine?"

"N-no," I replied honestly. "I've seen him wandering around the opera house, but-"

"Don't lie!" He made an effort to calm himself by pausing. "He was awake when I came in. He thought I had hurt you," he turned to the torture chamber and roared, "as if I was monstrous enough to harm my own wife!"

"I don't know him, I swear. Please, I don't know h-him."

"Erik," the Persian interjected, "I told you already-"

"You came in here with a pistol," Erik said coolly, "and conspired with my wife."

"Conspired?" I asked in bewilderment, glancing around as if others were around to support me. "No, no, I don't know him!"

"What did he tell you?"

"N-nothing."

"What did he tell you?!"

The Persian said, "It's alright, mademoiselle, tell him-"

"Don't tell my wife what to do!" Erik retorted. "You are not allowed to speak to her!... Well, what did he say?"

The bee found its way back into my ear.

"Are you afraid I'll hurt you?" He inquired, his voice gentle. "Why would I harm you for hearing him? Why would I ever harm you?"

"I'm afraid of you hurting _him_ ," I replied.

"That depends on what he said."

"But he didn't say anything!"

Erik sighed in irritation, "Alright, daroga, what did you say?"

"I told her the truth."

"The truth?..." He chuckled. "Which one?"

"You don't have Raoul," I whispered.

"What was that, my dear-?"

"You don't. Have. Raoul."

He was still for a moment, perfectly still. The three black pits in his face did not stretch, did not relax, concealing any emotion of his from me. The Persian and I waited in breathless silence for his response.

Then his lips, so thin they were near translucent, parted just enough to reveal his crowded teeth, and the corners turned up in mockery.

"You would believe a man you barely know over me?" Erik inquired. "You trust him? He knows if I have the boy, you will listen to me, so of course he lied and said I do not. But I do, and if you lie again or speak up like this, I'll bring him here and he'll join the Persian man-"

"Mademoiselle," the Persian exclaimed, "he doesn't have-!"

"When has your mouth ever done you any good?" Erik sighed, almost tut-tutting under his breath. "I had just come to the conclusion not to kill you, as it would please my wife to keep you alive, but you are making it rather difficult to consider letting you go this time. After all, I _have_ repaid you for, what do you call it?... Saving my life? Well, I have saved your worthless Persian hide twice now, you know, twice! I saved you from the siren, then allowed you to walk away free after you had been prying into my private life. Am I not permitted that? A private life? A normal house where no one is watching and listening?... Well, daroga, am I not?!"

"You won't kill him," I asked softly, trembling still, "w-will you?"

"My wife doesn't want you dead, daroga," Erik chuckled icily, "although you lied to her and attempted to have her kill me."

"Kill you?"

"He evidently planned for you to free him, without knowing he had a pistol, and then he would kill me. I had thought before that you knew about this plan, but I see you still care at least enough for me to not die, and you had no idea of this. You wouldn't condone a death." Then he added softly, "Though you did lie to me..."

"You can't kill him, please," I searched desperately for an excuse, "not right before our wedding!"

"I won't kill him," he replied, with surety.

"You... you won't-?"

"Don't listen to him, mademoiselle," the Persian interjected. "He-"

"Would you be quiet?!" Erik roared. "You've caused my wife a good deal of stress, you know, she's nearly fainting with it! I ought to kill you right now for that! She doesn't like people dying, daroga, not even a man she barely knows, or an entire crowd of strangers! How could you force me to commit such a crime against her by killing you? The poor thing is trembling like a leaf over here, you know, a beautiful leaf! The tree in there doesn't have leaves now, does it? Nor a breeze to make them tremble, if it had some... Well, daroga, silent at last? What a relief. Isn't it lovely, my dear, that he won't speak? He cares for strangers just as you do, albeit I assume many men would die for you. I certainly would not hesitate... Is he behaving well enough for me to let him go, my darling? Should I take him back now?"

"Yes, please, Erik, please take him back-"

"But there's a problem with that. Can you tell me what it is, my little Christine?"

"I-I don't know." I turned to the torture chamber, my jaw loosening in realization. "His pistol..."

"Yes, if I let him go, wouldn't he shoot me?"

"Then... have him throw it away."

Erik laughed, "How would he manage that?"

"I... I could go inside-"

"Then he would know where the door was. Don't you see?"

"But you promised!"

"I had forgotten about the pistol."

I could feel my mind unraveling, my senses tumbling into hysteria. Erik was laughing in my head, accompanied by the buzzing noise, and he was speaking to me as he laughed, as the bee tormented, speaking to me amiably and with terrible threats until I couldn't bear it anymore!

He gasped in surprise as my hand collided with his chest, thudding against the bone. My eyes widened in horror at my actions, what I could never have done, and yet just did!

After overcoming his shock, he secured my wrists in his hands, dragging me outside the room. I told him that I hadn't meant any harm, that I had only been frightened and confused! The Persian in turn yelled at Erik not to harm me, pleaded with him, as if I were his own daughter.

I was writhing and wailing like a proper madwoman. Erik had to keep adjusting his grip on my arms as one would to a child throwing a tantrum.

I didn't know which room he was taking me to, or what he would do to me there, or if he would do anything at all! Would he punish me? Shut me away in some miserable place?

He released me for a brief moment, simply to open the kitchen door. I attempted to flee, but tripped over my skirts, falling flat upon my face, too weak to rise again. My strength was broken.

He picked me up gingerly with a small gasp. I tasted blood, so I must have hurt my nose, adding to the carnage that decorated my features.

I was utterly exhausted by that point, too much to stand, and collapsed on the other side of the kitchen door. Erik rummaged around his menagerie of cabinets. Upon finding what he sought, he prepared it in the corner, away from my view, before bringing it swiftly to my lips while I pulled my features taut and turned my head.

He grabbed my chin so that I would face him, and I presently began to cry. I had been wailing before, but this was soft and pitiful. Perhaps the weak tears made him realize he had terrified me too much, handled me too roughly, because he set down his knee, assuming the position of one praying, save that his hands clasped a cup instead of each other.

"He's upset you very much," Erik told me in his softest voice, the one too perfect for a man to manage.

I shrunk further into myself.

"You didn't mean to hit your poor Erik, did you?" He asked, his sweet tones crackling slightly from hurt.

I shook my head.

"Good, of course you didn't mean to, you were only distressed. And that's why you lied, yes?... So need you to drink this now, to help you."

"There's blood," I whispered.

He placed a napkin beneath my nose, soaking up the red paste, "There, I'll clean it up better while you sleep."

"I don't want to sleep," I pleaded uselessly, "you'll kill him, you lied to me, you've lied so much-"

"Shh, I'll let him go."

I blinked in surprise, "No you won't-"

"I promise. I have a way."

"Promise... o-on my life."

He hesitated, "I promise on your life, I will let him go."

He tipped the cup to my lips, but I continued crying.

"You need to drink this," he told me again. "If you don't I will kill him."

My throat emitted a whimper as the cup found its away to my lips again. I hesitated but a moment before draining it, devoid of strength and hoping perhaps he had mistakenly given me poison.

My eyelids grew heavy as Erik placed the cup upon the counter. Then he stooped down to pick me up, and with whatever I had left in me, I flinched, but fell asleep a mere second later.

 _Panting. Running. My hair flew wild behind me. Fog crept up to my waist. All around were dark trees, sticking out of the ground like stakes, towering above my head and forming a net against the night sky._

 _Something was behind me. I could hear it rustling in the bushes. The foliage was buried in mist._

 _Don't turn around, don't turn around..._

 _"Christine, Christine..."_

 _I could feel my heart. It was far too heavy for my chest. It weighed me down, pounding throughout me like a timpani._

 _The rustling grew louder behind me. I had to move faster._

 _The fog curled up to my chin. A gray abyss below me, a black expanse above. No stars._

 _A white chapel appeared the center of the forest. The bells chimed in my ears, offering safety, security, somewhere to hide._

 _I pushed the doors open. A long red carpet, ran the length of the chapel, but red as wine or red as blood? Rows of pews. A crucible._

 _Two figures at the end. One was a priest in white robes. He clutched a book the color of red wax in his hands and possessed the range of expressions of a block of marble._

 _"Ah, here's the bride," he said, his pale lips barely parting._

 _A dark figure stood beside him. He turned to me. His face was a skull, his body a skeleton. The bones gave way, clattering to the floor in a mass of gleaming white._

 _I screamed and tore the dream in half._

I panted, taking in my surroundings. The Louis-Philippe room was opaque black, and I stumbled around in it, seeking the door. I felt my nose and found it covered in gauzy fabric.

Of all the actions I could have taken at that moment, I began to run a bath. At first I thought my mind had unconsciously decided I was to drown myself, but as I slipped inside, I had no intent of dying. I would ruin the bandage on my nose, first of all.

The door to the room opened and I cried out in alarm, causing it to promptly slam shut. Erik stammered apologies on the other side, telling me he was so excited to see his wife that he had neglected to knock. That frightened me.

I sat in the bath for perhaps a quarter of an hour admiring my bruises until I realized I ought to be washing myself. But then once this was finished, I couldn't bring myself to leave the lukewarm water. I waited until Erik knocked on my door to stir.

"Christine, my love?" He called. "Why are you depriving me of your company?"

It was then I realized I was shaking all over with cold, and I began to drain the water.

The door burst open without warning. I pushed up my knees to my chest and clutched them as Erik came into the doorway, his yellow pallor bleached white from dread. He gasped and turned upon seeing me.

"You're alive!" He cried in relief, beginning to sob. "I thought you had tried to kill yourself again, though you promised to marry me... forgive me for seeing you, it's not right, but I was afraid, of course, so it's alright, I was afraid for my wife..."

"Fiancée," I whispered, placing my head upon my damp knees.

"What difference does it make? You'll be my wife tomorrow..." He sighed in delight at the thought, still turned away from me so I could only see the wisps of black hair clinging to his yellow scalp. "How wonderful that will be, to be married, to never be alone and have someone to adore and entertain..."

I began to cry again, still curled up around myself in the cold water. I was shivering violently.

"You should get dressed now," he told me, oblivious. "I'll leave you alone, but be quick, I have a surprise for you."

I let out a choked sob and a noticeable shudder ran up his thin frame at the noise.

"Why do you cry?" He demanded pitifully. "It's not a surprise like before... It's alright if you cry now, if you feel you must. You'll see marriage to me is not so terrible. You'll see..."

He left the room. I remembered there was still the slight chance he had Raoul, and this was all that gave me the will to dress. I stepped outside the room with all the enthusiasm of a ghost on its rounds, save that my feet dragged upon the ground instead of floating.

"Would you like breakfast, my darling?" Erik asked from the dining room.

I turned to find a few fine china bowls containing all manner of fruits set out upon the table, as well as a place for me. I shook my head, unable to manage a 'no, thank you.'

"Would you like to see your surprise?" He inquired.

"Yes," I breathed, placing myself upon the sofa with the rigid posture of a sacrifice.

He went off to his room and returned with a flat white box tied with a cherry-red bow. It was too small to be a dress, perhaps a necklace?

I tugged loose the bow, discarding it beside me, and pulled the lid open. The piece sparkled in the light as it surfaced, a silver necklace with diamonds entwined about the chain. The largest sat in the center, grand and glittering like a drop of rain.

I hastily shut the box. A sickening feeling nestled in the pit of my stomach at realizing I would be wearing only his purchases the rest of my life. My dresses, my jewelry, my everything would be his. It was as if he was laying a claim on me with his gifts.

"You don't like it?" He asked, hurt.

"I-"

He snatched it away from me, "You women are such difficult creatures!"

And he stormed into his room without another word. Thank goodness.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **EXPLANATION because my writing wasn't clear, apologies. Erik was not being stupid about the pistol, he knew fully well about it before, he just likes to mess with people and Christine had irritated him. And she wasn't really in a rational state of mind that she could say "have him remove all the bullets" or something more logical than her previous answers.**

 **But did Erik free the Persian? After all, he swore on Christine's life...**


	6. Chapter 6: Dresses

**I may go back and polish this up a bit, but I think it's fine how it is and I really want to write the wedding scene.**

 **The main difference of this fic to Lilacs is that this Christine isn't nearly as strong, and this Erik is (hopefully) a bit closer to Leroux than I managed before.**

 **Speaking of Lilacs, that fic is just impossible right now, so it's going to wrap up really quickly. I should have one chapter up by tomorrow (fingers crossed) and then two more as soon as I can, then the epilogue. It's started to drag, I think, and I need to get to the end.**

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

My mind was beginning to make up itself without my knowledge. I found myself at the desk in my bedroom, a pen wet with ink in my hand, and a paper beneath my other.

A black dot bled through the paper as my mind formed the words.

 _Dear Maman,_

 _Forgive me for leaving you. I fear I shall never see you again due to a situation of which I cannot confide in you._

 _I wish to request a favor from you. I would like you to find a way to bring a small bag of my most treasured possessions to the side of the opera house, on the Rue Scribe, and deposit them in a place hidden enough to be found only by the one searching for it._

 _You have been far more than simply my benefactress, as you well know. You have been my friend and as close to a mother as I have ever truly known. Do not believe I will not miss you, as I am crying now as I write this._

 _Please forgive me._

 _Love,_

 _Christine_

I folded it and brought it out with me into the drawing room, clasping my hands about it as I sat down upon the sofa. Now I waited.

Erik would never permit this...

The door to his bedroom opened, and he emerged, black silk concealing his terrible face along with its expressions.

"Are you still upset?" He inquired. "You at least think the necklace is pretty, don't you?... Don't you want to wear it to the wedding? You would be the envy of a good number of brides-"

"I'll wear it if you..." I took a breath, settling my fluttering heart, "if you permit me a favor."

"A favor?..." His voice darkened as his eyes found the letter. "What favor?"

I extended it to him, my hand quivering. He took it, glanced at it, and promptly tore it in half.

"No," he told me simply.

"B-but Erik, please, at least let me fetch some of my things from home-"

His hand extended to toss the torn paper into the fire, but it returned to his side.

"Her house?" He asked, confused as he extended the pieces to me. "Is this not for our guest?"

"N-no, of course not. I want to tell my benefactress not to worry about me, and ask her to bring some of my possessions to the opera house. Not valuable ones, just sentimental ones, rocks from Sweden and things like that... the little locket with my mother's note inside it... Those sorts of things."

He opened the note, read it, and upon finishing found me crying softly into my hands.

"Oh, my dear, don't cry," he pleaded. "I only thought... Yes, of course I can deliver this. After all, she is your only family, as you've said before, though she's not related by blood... I'll procure your sentimental things, and I'll even buy a lovely little chest for you to put them all in. Please don't cry," his voice was filling with tears as he went on his knees before me. "Please, you've cried so much and I can't bear it. Forgive me for tearing the note, I only assumed, logically, that it was for the boy... There, you're quieting... Why would I deny my wife an innocent favor such as this, when it would please her so? And you promised to wear the necklace I bought. What a beautiful bride you shall be, a real, living bride..."

He fumbled with his fingers for a moment as he rose. I dabbed at my eyes with a handkerchief.

"A-at the end of the ceremony," he explained, beginning to pace similar to his suddenly nervous tone, "the husband is usually permitted to give his wife a... a... kiss."

He turned to me, waiting with wide, hopeful eyes behind his mask.

"Would you be brave enough for that?" He asked, his voice trembling as if caught by a breeze. "One small kiss on your forehead?"

One small kiss... He had not threatened, not yelled, simply pleaded for this one minuscule request, and yet one that made me shiver.

But I nodded with blank features.

"What?" He said, bewildered. "Tell me, so I may be sure, you promise to let me... k-kiss you? A real kiss on your very own forehead?"

"I promise," I whispered.

He was possessed by joy, and fell to my feet in his immense happiness, peppering the hem of my dress with kisses. He wept as he thanked and worshiped me, declaring that tomorrow would he the happiest day of his miserable life. He was crying so profusely that he had to remove his mask.

I turned my head away rather than brave the sight of him.

When he had wept his fill, he rose, and told me softly, "If you are lying, I believe you can surmise the consequences... I'm going to procure your veil now... Have you changed your mind about a wedding dress? A real wedding dress?"

I stared into the palms of my folded hands, "A simple one."

"But a real dress and veil? You promise to wear them both and behave yourself at the ceremony?"

I nodded. I gave a start as he clapped his hands together in euphoria.

"You are too wonderful, my Christine," he sighed happily. "Go rewrite your letter and I'll take it on my way to purchase your wedding dress."

I hastened to do so, and soon he was gone. I was alone.

I ate a piece of fruit he had set out every five minutes or so, but it was simply an activity to do. A distraction.

I hummed, ate a strawberry, toyed with the piano keys, pinned my hair up, let it down, ate a browned apple slice, pinned it back up, read a chapter of a novel, ate another strawberry, wandered about my room, examined my bruises, ate a handful of blueberries, cried for Raoul, and then sat back down on the sofa for quite some time until I heard Erik's footsteps behind the door.

He pushed it open, four white boxes in his arms. He was wearing his false nose and mustache that made me cringe, as it did little to remedy his hideousness.

"Have you not moved at all since I left, my darling?" He inquired, placing the boxes beside me. "Do you want me to open them for you? You look tired, even though you slept for so long..."

"I'll open them," I replied, my voice fragile.

He sat down in the armchair across from me, his spindly fingers entwining beneath his concealed chin, which seemed to be cocked slightly in curiosity. As I clumsily unwrapped it, I wondered if my hands would ever be still again.

Two veils, both lace, one in a floral pattern and the other simple, but with the edges in clear silk. Two dresses, both snow-white, one in silk with lace up the shoulders, and the other similar, nearly identical.

"Pick for me," I whispered.

"But try the dresses on. We have to be sure they fit."

I found myself nodding and taking the dresses into my room. The fabric was ice against my skin, causing pink bumps to rise along my arms. They were both tedious to dress in, and to make matters worse, I could hear Erik's impatient footsteps. He didn't like to be deprived of me, even for this.

The lace-shouldered one fit better, but when I stared into my lonely mirror, I realized how terrible I looked. Almost like a ghost- no, no, _exactly_ like a ghost. Like a bride who had died the day of her wedding.

My nose was still bandaged, and I could tell it had swelled up and bruised an ugly purple, which crept out from the sides. I had actually broken it. The other bruises still had yet to begin truly fading, as it had only been two days. The only sign that it was my reflection were my blue eyes. My hair was covered by the veil, tucked away and hidden. Upon concealing my features with this, I found the sight much more appealing, though my stomach churned.

I undressed, hiding from the mirror, and took the boxes out to Erik. He was in his armchair now, tapping his foot from impatience.

"It takes so long for women to change," he said.

"This one fits best, but I don't care about anything else," I told him monotonously, ignoring his comment. "I'll wear whatever you choose."

"Oh, the flowery lace, then, isn't it lovely?"

I nodded.

"Does your nose hurt at all?" He asked, finally voicing some concern. "I don't believe it actually broke, only bruised."

"It's swollen..."

"My poor little Christine, I wish we could postpone the wedding, but I've already arranged for the ceremony tomorrow. And you're still far more beautiful than I, so don't fret. And, of course, you will be wearing a veil, such a lovely veil... Do you have any requests for dinner tomorrow? Lunch? Anything special for the wedding?"

"I don't care what you do. Dress me in my Marguerite costume, I don't care."

He gave a nervous laugh, evidently hoping I was trying to make a joke. My eyes remained intent upon my hands.

"Why are you so afraid still?" He asked, his voice soft in my ears. "I'll wear my mask everyday when we're married, so you won't have to see me. I know you fear me, but I'm not truly wicked, if you love me you'll see... Is there something else troubling you?"

My lips parted, but no sound issued.

"What, my little Christine? Tell me so that I can alleviate your concerns."

"What... sort of marriage will this be?"

"A happy one? I don't understand the question, don't you already know the answer?"

"But... will I... will we ever... c-consummate it?"

His eyes turned to embers, and he was upon his feet in an instant, bristling with fury.

"You think I would be capable of such a crime?!" He demanded as I shrunk into the cushions. "I would tear myself into a thousand pieces- a million!- pieces, before I ever even _entertained_ the thought! It makes me sick to think of, you know, sick! I would never touch you, never, never! And if I ever did, Christine, why, I would let you kill me in any way you deem fit. And if you were kind still, too kind to give me a worthy punishment, then I would do so many terrible things to myself! So many unnameable tortures... But that will _never_ happen. I love you too much, more than anything... Well, I don't love anything besides you save music, but I would shatter my very eardrums for you! I love you more than any man has ever loved a woman, because I've never loved anyone before. It was too painful, you see, to try to love someone who reviled me. But you, you're kind and wonderful, and you said 'let me look upon you without fear!' Oh, how I loved you then, and even though it was a lie, I love you even more now..." He sighed. "I would never taint you in such a way. Don't lose sleep over such a ludicrous, _vile_ notion. As my wife, I will worship and adore you. We'll live in a perfect, normal house, furnished however you choose, and you'll have your own, perfect little bedroom, with white and silver furniture, and all in blue, like the sky you adore... Oh, and how wonderful you'll look inside it, a real, living wife inside a normal house!... My wife..."

I wished I believed him, but even after his profession of devotion, I couldn't. He could change on a whim.

"Do you fear anymore?" He inquired.

I shook my head.

"Oh, you don't know how happy that makes me! A real, living wife is one thing, but one who doesn't have any fears is even more incredible to think of."

"Would you play for me?" I asked softly, glancing up at him.

"You're an angel, an absolute angel, my little Christine," he sighed, delighted as he leapt to the piano. "Any requests?"

"I don't care..."

I indulged him all day. I let him decide everything, too exhausted to do so myself. When I needed to cry, I excused myself and hid within the walls of my bathroom until my eyes ran dry. Erik would pace outside the door, impatient for me to return to him.

I barely ate any food that day, but Erik blamed my nerves. I was a bride, after all, it was right for me to be anxious. He didn't even care...

He insisted we play music, and even when I was seeing the music through slits, my eyelids too heavy to hold up, he refused to cease. I asked to retire three times before he conceded, and as I curled up in bed around my empty stomach, I could hear his footsteps again.

I cried myself to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7: Whites

White. So much white. I was drowning in a foaming tempest. White silk, white lace, white flowers. My face was white. My hands were white.

I stabbed my scalp with pins as I pinned up the blonde curls. My nose was no longer the shape and hue of a plum, but it was still miserable-looking. I was miserable-looking.

Erik's voice came to my ears an inaudible echo. I found myself nodding, eating a morsel of breakfast, and following him into the boat. He wore his false nose and his best suit.

He was so happy it made me want to cry. He was ignoring how miserable I was, how terribly I was trembling, how I would never manage out even a 'yes' to the priest.

We could have walked to the Madeleine, but we took a brougham. No need to attract stares. No need to exert me. Out the window, people streamed by, oblivious. I pressed my hand against the glass, staring at my pale reflection through the veil.

"You're quiet," Erik remarked.

My lips moved, but nothing issued. Weddings were supposed to be happy occasions... mine was supposed to be so happy...

"Too anxious to speak?" He asked.

I gave no sign I had heard. My hand had frozen to the window.

"You look beautiful. I wish..." His voice drifted off.

We were in silence until the brougham stopped. Erik assisted me out like a gentleman, but I was trembling so violently I worried my legs would give way beneath me. His hand was on my shoulder, nudging my feet forward.

I couldn't do this. My blood froze in sudden realization that I couldn't do this!

"Christine?" Erik asked.

I had stopped just before the two great doors, open to swallow me up. My breaths were soft and heavy.

"You promised," he warned.

I willed myself to continue. Each step was eternity as we neared the front, where the priest waited. The veil barely concealed my terror from him.

I was going to be Erik's... His wife... I couldn't escape, couldn't run, couldn't _breathe_.

"Do you take this man to be your husband?"

I heard these words, and these alone, although there had been some prior. Erik had evidently prepared. The priest saw nothing wrong in my state, and to assist with my unwillingness, I only had to say one simple word. Three letters. My tongue needed to form just three letters.

I thought of Raoul, thought of him possibly under the earth. That slight possibility made me stumble out a "yes," and the short wedding was complete.

No, no, not yet. Erik had to kiss me.

His eyes sought mine through the lace veil, and his fingers found the edge of it. He trembled ever so slightly as he lifted it up past my chin, over the tip of my nose...

I fainted before our eyes had met.

When I woke, I was in a brougham, my head resting in Erik's lap. I sat bolt upright, frightened as I took in my surroundings.

Married. I had been married. I wasn't my own.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, beginning to cry. "I didn't mean to faint, I didn't mean to be quiet, I couldn't think, I couldn't-"

"You think I'm upset?" He asked, bewildered. "Why would I be upset? You're my wife! I'm happier than I've ever been, even without the kiss, but... m-might I kiss you at home?"

"Home," I mouthed, nodding and sniffling.

"Oh, how wonderful you are! I've never been so happy in all my life, never even close! And you'll be happy, too, don't fret. It's alright that you're frightened now, because you don't understand how wonderful marriage will be for you. But you'll see!"

"I fainted..." I whispered, slow.

"You did, my poor little angel. But I caught you before you could fall to the floor, so you aren't injured at all. You don't need to cry, everything is perfectly alright now. I'm so happy I'll even let our guest go home once we return, before anything else!"

"Please, you don't have him... I-I know you don't."

He was torn. I could see it in his eyes, both sides of his mind warring against admitting it, or keeping up the lie.

"No, of course I do not have him," he conceded. "But you understand that I needed to say that or else you wouldn't have been behaved enough to marry me properly? The other option was terrible, I assure you, and I assume you're delighted that I don't have him... But no more mention of him, not under any name whatsoever. No thought of him, nothing. He doesn't exist."

I nodded. My throat was now choked with tears. I lowered my head back onto his lap, too exhausted to keep it upright. He exhaled in awe.

"W-would you allow...?" He whispered. "My sweet little Christine, c-could I touch your hair?"

I nodded. His knee was soaked through from my tears.

"Take out the pins, p-please," I asked. They were pushing into my skull.

He hesitated for a moment, perhaps stunned, before I felt one pin slide out of my curls, then another, and another, until they were all clutched in his hand. He stared down at them in awe, admiring the pearls on the tips. The brougham stopped.

I was paralyzed with fear. No, no, no, I didn't want to go down into the dark with him! He would have to drag me. I couldn't bear it! Oh, what if he never let me out again?

He slid the pins into his pocket and exited the brougham. Then he extended his hand for me to take, his thin lips tilted up at the edges.

"C-could we go on a walk?" I pleaded desperately.

"Now? You're not properly dressed-"

"Please, Erik, I can't go down there now, I can't-"

"You think I would shut you away down there for eternity? What silly fears you have, my dear, come along."

"I can't-"

"Take. My. Hand," he commanded in a voice that would not be defied.

I extended my trembling hand to his, and he assisted me out.

"I'm going to faint again," I whispered, my stomach writhing. "I am, I am."

"I'll catch you, my darling, don't fret."

He had to pull me through the gate, and it was then that I began to truly panic. I was stricken with all forms of terror- of violation, darkness, being trapped- that my mind had devolved into that of a small animal terrified of being eaten.

"Christine?" He asked in confusion. "My darling, why won't you move? Just a few steps to the boat is all. You needn't be afraid of anything, you know this."

I wish I did, how I wish I did!

"Couldn't we go outside?" I pleaded tearfully. "Only for a moment, on a walk-?"

"Maybe tomorrow, if you still want to."

"Could we take a brougham tonight through the Bois, like before-?"

"I've already said, 'no!'" Then he sighed, "Would you please get in the boat, or must I pick you up and place you inside?"

How I found the strength to step into that little vessel, I had no idea. I sat rigid at the prow as he pushed it off into the lake, setting himself down behind me and beginning to row.

I waited in silence as we glided across the lake, and he seemed to understand that I was in no state for reasoning, as he remained silent, too. My eyes remained on the opaque water rather than the two glowing orbs in front of me.

Erik kept glancing away from me, as if he saw something hidden in the darkness. I hadn't the energy to seek it out myself. Instead, I found myself drawn to the water. It almost beckoned me to it. I could reach out and touch it, just there below me, an infinite abyss of nothingness-

"Christine!" Erik cried, grabbing at my dress.

It tore as I tumbled into the water. The surface broke like ice against my skin, and I already regretted my decision as I clawed upwards. The fabric of the dress absorbed the water, dragging me down like a rock no matter how hard I tried to pull myself up for air. Arms encircled me, tearing off the dress, pulling me up for breath. I gasped, coughing and choking as I was dragged out of the water onto gravel.

Erik carried me into the living room and placed me directly in front of the fireplace, which was a roaring fire in an instant. He rushed about for blankets. I was shivering so violently that I had little say in anything, and I removed the rest of my underthings when he said, desperate for warmth. He preserved my modesty by immediately wrapping me in blankets, then he darted off again, to where I knew not. I was frozen to where I kneeled, huddled up against the cold deep within me.

Erik's footsteps approached me. I glanced over at him and realized he had changed clothes, and was as undressed as I had ever seen him, with only pants, stockings, his mask, and a white shirt. No vest, no jacket, only a white shirt that showed with unusual clarity the bones of his shoulders.

He sat down beside me, shivering as violently as I had been. His arms encircled me, and I clutched the blankets tighter, fearful of his anger at my actions. Who knew what he was capable of?

Instead, he simply held me.

"Why did you do that?" He asked once his teeth had ceased chattering together. "You promised you wouldn't kill yourself, you promised!... Can I not trust your promises?"

I nodded hastily, "You can, it was an accident-"

He pulled me tighter, restricting my breathing, "Don't lie to me. Don't ever lie to me again, do you hear me?"

I nodded, and he loosened his arms about me.

"It's hard to trust you now," he said softly. "I won't let you be alone until I can trust you not to kill yourself."

"W-what do you mean? Please, I was only frightened-"

"And you'll be frightened again!... But... I have to buy groceries, you know, and little gifts for you, flowers and such, at least once a week... What am I to do then?"

"I won't try again, I promise." My eyes were welling up. "I wasn't thinking-"

"Then how can you promise?..." His eyes widened at a thought he had experienced. "Oh, g**, Christine, my angel, I'd have to tie you up again if I ever needed to leave! I couldn't bear it, I won't, I can't... You wouldn't make me resort to that, would you? Surely you wouldn't."

"I won't, please, you can't do that-"

He began to cry, "Why must you be like this?! Why must you hate and fear me so?!" He clutched me tight to his bony chest as if afraid I would disappear. "I w-wanted... I wanted us to come home and... I wanted to play the wedding mass for you. It's such a lovely piece, all for you... And then we were going to have a nice little lunch, roasted chicken and potatoes, and the Merlot you like. And a lovely dessert, the cakes you adore, the little strawberry ones with creams... I always had those for you when you visited. You pretended to be happy when you visited... A-and now you're frightened and won't eat a thing!" He told me angrily, and I feared he might do some harm to me, but his grip remained gentle. "You would rather die than eat with me, wouldn't you?"

He gave a sob, crying into me. The poor man...

"A-and... Tell me, my wife, did you?... Did you only pretend to faint so... so I wouldn't k-kiss you?"

I shook my head, "No, no, I was frightened by it all, only frightened, not of the kiss, I was just so overwhelmed... I'll let you kiss me now... if you want."

His eyes widened behind his mask, "Are you in earnest?"

I shut my eyes and pushed out my forehead a bit towards him. I suppressed my shivers, thinking of being bound to a chair again, of Erik's unhappiness.

I felt his lips upon my forehead, lips thin as my veil that was sinking into the lake, and they departed from me in an instant. I didn't fear his kiss, only that, after a small taste of affection, he would want more.

But he was appeased, and cradled me against his chest again as he wept.

"You're such a g-good girl, my Christine," he whispered through tears, "so brave to let your poor Erik k-kiss you, and hold you... You won't be afraid a-after a little while of being my wife, you're t-too brave to be afraid for very long... My... my mother never kissed me, you know, not... not once... S-She always ran away from me, and threw me my mask, because she was so a-fraid... And you, even you are afraid of me, though you kissed me and can look upon me without fear... E-even you..."

My reply evaded me. I pitied and feared him, both at once, and I didn't know whether to console him or attempt to hide myself away.

"You're so small," he whispered.

"Please let me go."

He dropped me onto the carpet, as if he hadn't realized how close he had been to me. He stared down at me as I adjusted the blankets, my foot having come out of the side.

"N-no," he whispered before I could conceal it. "W-would you let me see?"

My voice was frail, "My foot?"

His demeanor was frightening me. His eyes were intent upon the white appendage sticking out from the quilted blankets. I had only ever seen him this focused when he played music.

I shivered, "I'm cold."

The frightening light in his eyes faded, "Forgive me, of course, I forgot... Do you want to hear the wedding mass now?"

"Couldn't I be dressed first?"

"Yes, of course, only... In your bathroom, you can dress in your bathroom, and I'll wait just outside."

"W-why must you-?"

"I told you before," he retorted, "don't make me say it again."

I bowed my head. Erik glanced back down at where my foot had been a moment before, then he sighed and rose.

"Do you not want to dress?" He asked. "You aren't making any move to do so."

"No, I will," the blankets slipped, but I caught them before any damage was done.

He followed me into the room, and proceeded to pick out a dress for me to wear. Once it was all set out upon the bed, he felt the fabric with his hand.

"I'm going to buy you so many lovely dresses," he sighed, running a finger along the lace and buttons. "And little shoes, and jewelry. And in the summer, a lace parasol for our walks through the park..."

"W-will we have one this Sunday-?"

He clenched his fist in the fabric, and replied with frustration, "No! We won't..."

"When will we?"

"Maybe in a month..."

"But you'll take me up to buy dresses and things at least... w-won't you?"

He shook his head, his eyes downcast and mournful, "We have to wait."

"Wait for what-?"

"There are many reasons, and one is your own foolishness!" He went to the corner and turned around. "Get dressed."

There wasn't much to do save trust him, which was an impossible feat.


	8. Chapter 8: Possessions

**NOTE: I went with the interpretation of Christine's scarf as a headscarf (funnily enough because I needed it to be cotton, as wool is rather tedious to burn) but also because I like that better. It can be seen either way the way I wrote it, though :)**

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Once I was dressed, Erik hurried me into the drawing room, radiating with excitement. He explained to me the deep meaning of his piece, but I didn't hear a word, and without warning, I was swept inside of it.

His music could inspire such feeling inside me. The euphoria in the piece, the sweet melodies, swirling together in a mass of perfect chords, reminded me of Tchaikovsky, only... _more_. So much more! It was so terribly beautiful, wringing my heart dry, until I could do little more than weep uncontrollably as it danced inside my ears. The colors of it shifted, red fading into orange, orange into yellow, and suddenly blue would emerge, followed by a rich purple. I was engulfed by the splendor of it all, the all-encompassing joy with sadness lying in wait just beneath the surface.

How could he pull this out of the piano?

It faded away, and Erik's hands vibrated with the passion of his work. Then they fell into his lap and he turned to me with the demeanor of a child waiting to be praised.

"Wasn't it lovely?" He said.

My face was painted with tears and my mouth agape in awe. I nodded.

"Did it make you weep for joy?" He asked, a bit of concern in his tone.

I nodded again, pressing my lips together to keep from dissolving into tears, though I wondered how I had any more to shed.

"Was it acceptable?" He inquired, coming over to me and slowly falling to his knees at my feet. "Was it the most exquisite music you've ever heard?"

"It was," I whispered, nodding emphatically. "Exquisite and... unreal."

His eyes smiled behind his mask, and he brought the hem of my dress to his lips.

"It's my gift to you," he said. "I will play it whenever you ask."

"Thank you..."

He rose swiftly, "What shall we do now? It's so exciting to have a wife, you know! We can do anything at all, anything!"

I nodded blankly.

"Do you have a request? Perhaps you're ready for lunch now? I won't make you eat anything today if you're still anxious, but you can't starve yourself, you know... I'm a very patient man, my little Christine, you know this. After all, I spent years devoting myself to a single piece for weeks on end. So I can be patient with you, too, and soon you'll warm up to the idea of marriage, as it's such a lovely thing. I'm going to take such wonderful care of you! You won't want for anything, I promise, and you know how I despise promises... Why are you still so fearful, though? You know I love you. And I won't keep you down here for eternity."

"When can I go back up?" I asked pitifully.

He tapped his fingertips together, "I'm not entirely sure yet. No longer than a month."

"A month?! Please, Erik, not a month-"

"For your protection... But I'm sure I can at least take you up by the end of the week for a brief walk, if anything."

"But why-?"

"You know why!" He exclaimed with fury. "It's your fault, yes, all your fault I can't take you back up!" He began to sob, "I don't want to keep you h-here... I don't! I w-want to take you on walks, a-and carriage rides, a-and even perhaps to a nice restaurant, wouldn't that be lovely? They have private rooms in some, if you would prefer that. You wouldn't have to be stared at then... Why do you cry? I've already told you, I don't like this situation any more than you do. You don't belong beneath the earth, it's not right for you at all... Please don't cry, please, I don't like it either."

"But _why?"_ I demanded again. "Why are you being so cruel for no reason-?"

"I am not being cruel, only logical," he retorted coldly. "But we can have lots of fun down here! We have everything we could ever need, music and-"

"When will we have a house?"

He glanced down at the Persian carpet, "Maybe a month or two. It's tedious to find a house that will suit us well, and is in the right place, and then it has to be furnished to your liking... Yes, two months should be plenty. And you can look forward to it, how happy you'll be when you don't have to come down here anymore!"

"Do you promise we'll have a house?"

"I don't make promises. But of course we will have a house! Why wouldn't we? We can be perfectly normal. You could even have a child if you so desired."

I shook my head, "I don't want children."

He laughed, "How silly you are, my little Christine, not _mine_."

I blinked, confused, but he continued before I could ask him what this meant.

"Let's have lunch now," he offered. "I need to quickly prepare it. You sit at the dining table, and don't get up from there or else I _will_ tie you to it. I won't have you killing yourself or causing any more bruises to color your skin."

I nodded, obeying readily. I had to get on good terms with him again as soon as possible, or else I would find myself never alone again.

I folded my arms on the table and buried my head in them. Erik kept going in and out of the kitchen to be sure I wasn't attempting to hurt myself.

We ate lunch, that is to say I did and he watched, but I didn't taste any of it. I found myself exceptionally tired already, and requested a nap.

His eyes lit, "How long will you sleep?"

"An hour, perhaps."

"An hour..." he whispered. "I'm going to give you something to help you, as you must still be nervous."

I shook my head violently, "No, I'm alright now-"

"You will take what I give you," he argued, his tone making me shiver. "I need to run an errand while you sleep, as opposed to tying you up. I despise the thought of it... Unless you would rather be bound as opposed to asleep?"

"Bound."

He rose like a flame, "You don't trust me at all, do you?! How terrible you think I am, that I would violate my poor wife without her knowledge! You think me so wicked, don't you? Wicked enough to do such a despicable thing to you, when I adore you and want only to give you everything!... I won't have you be bound! I won't stand for it, because you'll struggle, won't you? And then your poor wrists would redden again, perhaps bleed... No, you will sleep. Wait here."

He went into the kitchen, and emerged rather swiftly with a cup of tea-like liquid of a brownish hue.

"Drink it all at once," he commanded, "but get dressed for bed first. I'll wait outside your door."

I had never felt more brave or stupid in all my life as I did then, walking to my room with him following. He turned around in the doorway, the cup of death in his hand, and I undressed to be more comfortable. I knew that no matter how many layers I had on, it wouldn't make a difference.

"I'm finished," I told him from the bed.

I had the sheets up to my chin, and I stared at him as he came over to me, presenting the cup.

"You need to trust me," he said. "Married people should trust one another, and at the very least, the wife should trust her husband."

He extended it further to me. I took it with trembling hands and raised it to my lips.

"Promise," I whispered.

"You know very well- oh, what's the harm? I promise."

Before I allowed myself time to think, I began to gulp it down. I didn't take a single breath.

He took the empty cup from my hands, and told me in a praising manner, "There, see?... I'll be back in an hour or two, you should sleep for all that time. And when you wake, I'll have a surprise for you."

I nodded blankly, curling up about myself. My eyelids grew heavy as he turned off the light and shut the door.

He had promised...

When I woke, I began to breathe hard, fearful of what might have occurred. To my relief, nothing. Erik had been truthful.

The door, however, was ajar. He was pacing in front of it, his hands kneading together with anticipation.

"Erik?" I called.

He halted, pushing open the door, "Are you awake now, my wife? Are you feeling better?"

"Much better."

"And now you trust me. I didn't touch you, of course, as you can tell... But I have a surprise for you regardless of that, dress and come into the drawing room."

He allowed me to be alone this time, and I breathed a sigh of relief at this. Once I was dressed, I went into the drawing room, placing myself upon the sofa with my hands in my lap.

He came over to me with a white chest, like for jewelry, only slightly larger. He handed it to me and sat down beside me as if pleased with himself and excited to see my reaction.

I flicked open the latch. The hinges were new, so they didn't creak upon opening. I stared at the contents.

"My things," I said. "Thank you, Erik, for getting these."

"You can keep them on your dresser... Such strange possessions, though. I expected them to be more valuable."

"The rocks are from Sweden, and the coins... I took some of home with me."

"And the necklaces?"

"A girl made me the shell one, and the other is a locket with a note from my mother inside. It's not real silver, we couldn't afford that. I actually don't know what it's made out of... And then the picture of my father... But..." I furrowed my brow in confusion. "Erik, something's missing."

"What?"

"I didn't think she would forget it. My red scarf. I wore it often as a girl, it was my favorite."

"That's strange. Perhaps she didn't think it precious enough to you."

"But I kept it with these things!" I insisted. "Could she have lost it?"

"You're quite upset by this."

"Did you take it?" I asked, suddenly realizing it was more than likely. "You took it, didn't you?"

"Why would I?"

"Because you know about it, the story with it, you know!"

"You need to calm yourself. I don't have it-"

"How _could_ you?"

"How could _I_?" he demanded. "How could _I_? When you want only to remember a former lover by it?... Would a man allow his wife to be married in another's pearls? Or have anything not given by him, for that matter? No! Why am I any different? And I'm only holding you to your promise of not thinking of him."

"Please, Erik, you're being cruel!"

"Cruel?" He said darkly, bending over me. "You think this is cruel?"

Then he left, his pace swift, and he disappeared into his bedroom. I watched the door in trepidation.

What had I done now?!

He emerged with the red fabric clutched between his bony hands. I thought he would halt in front of me, but he continued to the fireplace, extending his hand over the flames-

"Erik, no!" I shrieked. "Please! You can't!"

"It's a piece of fabric, my dear, nothing more. And yet it pains you so, doesn't it?"

"Please don't burn it, _please_."

"Why not?"

"Because I will cry!"

"Cry over another man... Who is being cruel, you or I?"

"I am, I am, I'm sorry."

He removed his hand from the flames, "I will give you this when you can prove you trust me. And if you try to deceive me, I will burn it without a second thought... Do I make myself clear?"

I nodded. My face burned with foolishness, but I couldn't help it. That red scarf was all I had of Raoul now. It had _become_ him.

Where even was Raoul, now?

"Let me show you some magic tricks, my darling," Erik offered, once he had concealed the scarf in his bedroom again. "I'm going to see if you can find out how I do them."

"I just want to watch," I replied dejectedly.

"If you insist..."


	9. Chapter 9: Hearts

**I feel like whenever I write that I have writer's block, it's like "don't throw me under the bus for your problems" and just goes magically away. But I don't know**

 **Note of explanation at end for an important part of this miserable chapter. Maybe the next one will be lighter? As if...**

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Erik allowed me to read for a little while as he composed. He said I had inspired him.

I was glad to be alone in a book, even though he was composing at the piano rather than the organ, and therefore near me. But I kept skimming over pages and retaining nothing of what they had said, then flipping back to where I could remember and rereading. I became too frustrated to continue, so I set it aside, curling up and lying down with my cheek pressed against the arm of the sofa. The fire had dissolved to glowing embers, but the drawing room had electric light, so it didn't matter.

All the rooms had electric light, although, for some reason I hadn't had time to contemplate, Erik hadn't been using mine. He had placed candles in my room instead. Did it have to do with the torture chamber, perhaps? But then, I had turned on the light without a problem...

Erik's music ceased, but it still buzzed low in my ears. I knew he would notice me soon, any moment now, I could count down. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six-

"Why aren't you reading?" He demanded, standing up next to the piano. His fingertips tapped the black gloss.

"I'm not feeling well," I lied.

"Do you want medicine? Is it a headache, stomachache?"

I shook my head, "I was listening to your music, keep playing, please."

"I don't want you to be miserable. I know you're miserable, you've never acted like this before, even when you were at first, you at least _pretended_ to be happy..." His hand curled like it was burning.

"I miss home," I said softly.

"We'll have a home of our own quite soon, and until then, this is your home."

He started over to me with tentative steps. I curled into myself further.

"I hate this place," I whispered.

"It's not so terrible. You're exaggerating. After all, it has electric light, so it's almost as if it _does_ have real windows letting in the sun. And your room is lovely, isn't it? And being without interruption or loud noises?"

"But it's beneath the earth like a tomb."

"Do you think _I_ like it here?!" He snapped. "You need to cease complaining and learn to be happy here. It's not so bad, and I'm not so terrible, am I? I wear my mask, I provide for and adore you... D-don't I?"

He began to sob, and he fell to my feet twitching as if possessed. I was always quite frightened of when he cried, as it was rarely quiet or calm, and often I wondered if he would be so wretched as to do me harm.

I heard his mask clatter to the floor as he wept without words. We both knew why he was crying, so there was no need for them.

"I love you..." he whispered, once his tears had subsided. He kissed my skirts clumsily. "I love you... C-could you lie to me and say that? To me?"

"I love you, Erik," I replied, emotionless and blind-eyed.

"How prettily you say the words..." He sighed. "Might I hold you again? Are you resigned enough now for that?"

"Not now..."

"You don't know how soft you are," he told me, caressing the fabric of my skirt. "And warm, like... like a rabbit. I held one once, and it felt the way you do, all warm and alive. I could feel its heartbeat. I could feel yours as well, all your little breaths, too, how frightened you were, and shivering with cold. The lake is so unforgiving, let's hope your color returns soon... The little creature was frightened as well, as I intended to eat it eventually, but I had never felt the sensation of a warm being fully against me, so I took what I could... You were much better than a rabbit, though."

"I'm glad," I whispered.

"Would you like any pets?" He offered.

"No..."

"Good, because I hate the things, and it wouldn't do to have you wanting something I despise, would it?"

"No," I replied, thinking of Raoul.

He smiled to himself in my skirts, "It's so nice to have a wife. I'm so happy, you know. I wish you could be happy, too..."

"I... I could manage to be happier... i-if you returned... it to me."

His hands turned to claws in my skirts, and they dragged me down off the sofa until I was beneath him, my head barely clinging to the cushions. He told me with unhinged jealousy, "I know why you want that scarf, and it's not because of sentiment! You aren't allowed to think of other men now, not at all! You know that! You know that's not allowed, you know it isn't!"

I nodded weakly, and he released me in horror at himself, sending me sliding down the rest of the way onto the floor. He stumbled away, pleading, "forgive me, forgive me" as he slipped back on his mask. I came to the conclusion that I both forgave him and didn't at all, both at once.

I curled up on the floor, my heart pounding in its confusion. He was right. I shouldn't think of Raoul, it would only make me miserable.

"I want to take a bath," I declared, still on the ground.

He turned to me, as he had been refusing my gaze in his shame, "A bath?"

"Yes... I never took one after... falling into the lake."

He nodded, raising a hand over his veiled mouth as one would to bite at one's fingernails. I stood up on trembling legs.

"Maybe tomorrow," he told me.

"But Erik-"

"No, tomorrow... You're supposed to obey me, you know."

I fled into my room and slammed the door. He pursued.

"You're not allowed in there alone," he told me. "Come out."

"Leave me alone!"

"To kill yourself? No."

"Then bind me to a chair and leave me be."

"Christine, my wife, I couldn't possibly do that for no reason, I couldn't bear it! Now come out, please, or-"

A ringing noise made its way through the house. I peeked through the door.

"What is that?" I asked, knowing it couldn't bode well.

His eyes had a mad gleam in them again, and I was certain he was smiling beneath the black silk. That could only mean one thing: death.

"Oh, merely the siren," he answered. "I suppose I will have to bind you, as I don't quite trust you yet-"

"Erik, please, what is it-?"

"Shh, come into the drawing room with me, we need to be quick."

He was certainly swift in restraining me. I writhed a little, and he patted my head.

"Don't hurt yourself, one moment... Ah, I've forgotten something," he began chuckling to himself as he went into his room.

He didn't come out. Minutes ticked by, and there was no sign of him.

"Erik?" I called.

Silence.

"Erik, I'm frightened," I tried. "I'm frightened!"

"Christine?" Came a familiar voice from behind the front door. "Christine, are you in there?"

"Go away!" I cried. "Go away, Raoul, why have you come here? Leave me alone!"

"Alone? Aren't you a prisoner?"

My mind was wearied from exertion, but managed out an idea.

"Of course not!" I retorted. "Why would you think that? I'm married to him."

"M-married?"

"Of course. You know..." I pushed away my revulsion, "I love Erik."

"What? But... we were going to run away, you said you wanted to!"

"You're so much fun, Raoul," I told him in the cruelest manner I was capable of, "thinking I would run away with you when you have _nothing_ for me."

"You don't love me? Not at all?... Are you lying? Is he making you say this-?"

"You're such an idiot! Erik is out buying me dresses and things, far away from here, and I'm telling you the truth! I," I my voice quavered, "never loved you. You were a bit of fun was all."

"You're... you're lying!"

"I love Erik, not you. Why, I hate you, Raoul, go away before my husband finds you trespassing! I assume Philippe is worried sick about his little brother."

"But... no... no, he's making you say this!"

"I hate you! Are you too stupid to understand? Must I say it slower? I. Hate. You! Now go away and leave me to my marital bliss, why don't you? Be useful for once."

"How can you say these things?"

"I've always been one for candor. Now leave me alone!"

"What has he done to you?"

"You don't think I'm smart enough to lie, do you?... I had a rather large change of heart is all. You were right, who wouldn't want to live in an underground palace? And perhaps I changed a few facts about my captivity, but yes, Raoul, I lové him, not you. Now leave me be."

"He's listening! He's making you say these things, please, Christine-"

"Your voice is giving me a headache. Now go away and leave me be!"

After a moment, heard wet footsteps fading away, and perhaps the sound of him weeping. I began to sob into myself, my chin collapsing upon my chest.

"You're a fine little actress," Erik informed me from just behind my ear so that I jumped. "I knew you could manage it... And now we shall have no interruptions from anyone."

My chest filled with heat, "How did you know I would do that?"

"I didn't," he replied honestly. "But I'm glad, or else he would be dead, and you would be quite upset by that, wouldn't you? More upset than having married me. So he's alive, and we're married, all is right and good, isn't it? We both have what we want."

I nodded blankly, my vision clouding. My poor Raoul! I must have torn his heart apart with those words. What could he be thinking now?

"Let me untie you now," Erik told me. "I'm going to make dinner-"

"No, no," I pleaded, shrinking away from him as he approached me.

"You don't want me to untie you?" He asked in confusion.

"Leave me like this..."

"But... surely you-?"

"Leave. M-me."

"Perhaps... it is best, you might not be very sensible at the moment, and I won't have you harming yourself, poor little dear. I'll be quick about dinner, though, don't fret."

He went into the kitchen, and I was alone to lament.

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 **This Erik is awful. He's condescending, belittling, and just plain evil. Yay! Dark!Erik success, I think, taking the original and making slight changes.**

 **Okay, but what happened with Raoul? Basically, he was so enthusiastic to rescue Christine, that he tripped and hit his head hard enough to render himself unconscious. The Persian decided to quickly deposit him in Christine's dressing room, then go to save Christine, but people had gathered and found them. They tried to question him and he couldn't get away until it was too late, so he went to regroup at his apartment, get his pistol, and go back down. Obviously, he was expecting the worst and probably self-deprecating hard that he should've just left Raoul and gone after her then and there, poor guy.**

 **Anyway, Raoul was practically under house-arrest with his brother upon waking up, all bandaged up on his head, and he managed to get free a few days later and swim across the lake. He probably has a concussion at this point, also. And then his poor heart is shattered and you can choose whatever you think happens to him next. Suicide by heartbreak? Going to find the Persian? Running home to cry with his brother? Maybe we'll never know... I prefer the last one, as it's quite in character.**


	10. Chapter 10: Waters

**And Christine finally gets a break! Er... sorta. But she's far from out of the woods.**

 **I really love this Erik because he's cruel and at the same time in love, So what he does is because he 'loves Christine,' such as the Raoul part. He was happy that she had saved him while ridding them of him, then he didn't have to kill him with her knowing, as she would be upset over that. I feel like this Erik, though dark, is more accurate to canon than my Lilacs one, too.**

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My last will had gone away with those cruel words to Raoul. I doubted he was gone for good, but I lied to myself that he wouldn't return. I had wounded him deeply enough.

Perhaps Erik saw that I wasn't even a threat to myself at that point, because he was gentle with me all evening, and permitted me to prepare for bed alone.

I slid beneath the sheets with heavy eyelids. I knew Erik would come in at some point, unable to resist the temptation, but I found I didn't care. I didn't care.

By some miracle, I managed to fall into tumultuous nightmares, but then awoke in opaque darkness. The dreams had set me on edge, and I called out, "Erik?"

"It's alright, my dear," he whispered from the corner in front of me. "I won't do anything, I'm merely here to be sure you're safe."

I nodded weakly, "Goodnight..."

My next nightmare was incredibly real, of Erik violating his promise, and I woke up flailing and panting in horror.

"What's wrong?" Erik asked, the chair creaking as he stood. "Are you alright, my darling?"

"A nightmare..." I whispered. "O-only a nightmare."

"You're safe here, no matter whether you believe it or not, you are."

"I believe it," I lied. "I'll be fine..."

He sat back upon the chair. I remained tossing and turning with taut eyelids the rest of the night.

In the morning, I found a vase of roses by my bedside. Erik's chair in the far corner was unoccupied.

I pulled the covers over my head. As a child, it had given me a sense of comfort and safety to do this, and somehow it repeated the feeling now.

Raoul... my poor Raoul...

I began to cry just before Erik came into the room. He pulled back the bedsheets from my tear-streaked face, and I stared up at him passively.

"You shouldn't cry so much," he told me. "It will exhaust you... I made you breakfast, you must eat some of it. Don't trouble yourself with getting dressed, just come in your nightgown and shawl."

I have no sign of assent.

"Did you hear me, my dear?" He asked.

I nodded weakly.

"You didn't sleep well. I should've given you something for it, but I was afraid I would leave and come back to find you had harmed yourself... But you seem well enough now... I'll permit you a bath, only I'll remain just outside the doorway to be sure you're alright... Isn't that nice? A bath?"

I repeated the same head motion from before.

"But let's eat now, then you can have one."

He brought me into the dining room and sat me down at the table. I stared at my empty plate for a good minute until Erik began to fill it for me with a few fruits and some toast.

"You only need to eat that," he told me. "It's not much... Come now, my dear, just a bit of it?... Why won't you speak? Are you alright?"

"No," I whispered.

His chair scraped against the floorboards as he stood, "I understand... But you must eat. That's all I require of you for now, for a whole week, you must only eat. You can do most anything you like if you only do that."

My body comprehended faster than my mind, and I couldn't taste the food, nor did I know how fast I was eating until I looked down at the plate and found it bare. Then I glanced up and realized that Erik had been reading in his armchair, evidently knowing I might be some time.

I hadn't the energy to stand up or call to him. I rested my head against the varnished wood, shutting my eyes.

"Are you asleep?" Erik whispered, coming over to me.

I didn't stir.

"Poor little dear, but she'll be fine in a week or two... maybe a month... perfectly fine..."

He slid an arm beneath me, and another one around me so that I could be carried to my room. He placed me upon the bed with delicate attention.

"I know you're not asleep," he told me. "But it's alright, only, tell me when you're going to take a bath."

I shifted onto my side, curling up into a ball. Perhaps an hour later I found myself turning on the silver tap on the bath and adjusting the temperature with my hand. I played with the waterfall, letting it glide between my fingers.

Erik came into the room, his arms crossed.

"Didn't I tell you to say when you would have a bath?" He said.

I stared at him blankly, then began to cry.

"Oh, I didn't mean to upset you. It's alright, perfectly fine, you were tired and didn't hear me, yes? But I'll wait just outside the doorway to be sure you're safe."

I turned off the water and put a handful of fragrance in it. Lavender. I slipped out of my nightgown and folded it in the corner, with my sea-green shawl atop it.

I dipped my foot beneath the surface. It was too hot, but I didn't care, and continued until I had sunk as low as I could, my chin level with the foam. Then I sat further upright, rubbing my arms with a bar of soap, and began to sing to myself:

"Källan sprang ur jordens barm,

Log mot solens kyss så varm,

Klar som dagens blick den var,

Lika skön och underbar.

Kom så fram till kallans brädd,

Liten tärna, blyg och rädd,

Såg sin spegelbild i den,

Tvådde ros och lilja se'n.

Källan, grumlad en sekund,

Af den leken på dess grund,

Stod snart åter lika klar,

Lika djup och underbar.

Tiden gick med barnets lek,

Snart en jungfru, skön, men blek,

Fram till källans spegel gick,

Med en bruten liljas skick.

När hon såg sin bild där stå

Föll en sorgens tår därpå.

Och fast nyss så spegelklar,

Nu förmörkad källan var!

Och där växla höst och vår:

Mörk och grumlig källan står."

Sommar kommer, vinter far:

Aldrig mera blir den klar..."

"Do you often sing when you bathe?" Erik asked from the doorway, where he sat with his back facing me.

"Sometimes..." I whispered.

I stood up, dripping beads of water, and wrapped a towel about myself, dabbing at each individual droplet with the corner. I was too exhausted to be efficient.

"What would you like to do today?" Erik offered.

"Knit, read a book... play music..." I answered monotonously. "What else is there?"

"There will be more once this week is over. I'm taking you to look at houses on Monday."

"Houses?..." I said, glancing at him as I wrapped myself in a second towel. "You promise we will?"

"Yes, and we should move into it within two months," he told me, evidently delighted to share the news. "It'll be on the edge of Paris. I have four in mind, though two I prefer, but of course, you ought to choose. You're the wife, after all. And you can have it look however you please, with anything you like inside. I understand you're not one for antiques. And it will be wonderful, with three bedrooms or more, two bathrooms, perhaps a library or music room, if you so desire. I really don't care what it is so long as you approve of it. And I don't want you troubling yourself with money at all, don't ever ask me about that. It'll be an expensive home, though, that I promise... But don't worry, you won't keep it, I'll have a maid come by a few days a week, so you needn't work... Doesn't that sound nice?"

I began to cry, "I was afraid I would be trapped down here forever."

"Why would that happen? I already told you we would have a house."

"I didn't believe you..."

"But now you do, yes?"

"I do..." I said, though I still wasn't fully sure.

"Good... You can cease crying now, everything's alright... Now get dressed and then we can play music for the morning."

"Could-?" I asked as he started to leave the room.

"Could what?"

"Could we... go outside at all before then?"

Silence. I swallowed my trepidation.

"I'll consider it," he told me. "I expect a brougham through the Bois would be acceptable to you?"

"It would make me so happy, Erik."

"Perhaps tomorrow night, then... or tonight, let me see..."

The door shut behind him, and his footsteps faded away.

It was then I realized that, knowing Erik, these kindnesses were likely to have some expectation attached. He would want something from me. Perhaps a kiss for whenever he took me outside, and when he had the house... w-when he had the house...

I shook my head. No need to think of that now. I should only think about the present, not the past nor the future, here and now, or else I would cause myself further suffering.

"Perhaps it won't be so bad," I lied to myself as I dressed. "If he does procure a house, but then doesn't expect anything from me, it won't be so terrible... not so terrible..."

I turned to the mirror. My nose had almost returned to its normal shape, though it had a sickly hue to it. My forehead still bore fading bruises. I glanced down at my wrists and found they were healing rather nicely, though their mistreatment was still evident.

"Christine, my love?" Erik called from the door. "Do you have a request for music?"

"I don't care," I replied.

"I couldn't quite hear you, your voice is rather faint today. What was that?"

"I don't care."

"Would you mind if you sang a piece I wrote for you?"

"Couldn't we just play Mozart?" I asked.

He chuckled, "You change your mind so often. But I suppose, if that's what you want, it'll do... Are you nearly done?"

I stared into my reflection, "I'm pinning up my hair."

"No, no, I would prefer it down. Just leave it how it is."

"Okay..." I whispered, shuffling over to the door.

I didn't want to be with him. He had made me tell Raoul that I hated him.

No... I had done that to _save_ Raoul. Erik would've killed him had I not. Murdered him within earshot of me.

I shivered and emitted a whimper at the thought. The door to my room opened slow enough to creak.

"Why are you taking so long?" He asked. "You know how much I love you."

"I'm so tired," I replied. "So very tired..."

"Perhaps we should wait for music, then," he offered hastily. "A book, maybe? Could I read to you?"

I nodded, "Yes, that's fine..."

I spent the morning at his feet, my head resting on the side of his knee. Every once in a while, Erik would take a curl in his finger and twirl it softly enough he thought I wouldn't notice, then quickly replace it. I didn't mind so much. I didn't feel like I would mind anything now.

And that day dragged on like that. I could tell Erik was becoming upset at my attitude, as he yelled at me a few times without warning or reason, and spewed apologies swiftly following.

I collapsed onto my bed in tears at the end of the day, and fell asleep curled up like that, atop the covers in my lace nightgown. I woke up in the middle of the night and found I had been tucked in. Erik offered me a tonic to help me go back to sleep, and when I said no, he told me he needed me to sleep in longer so he could run errands in the morning without having to worry about me. So I drank it.

The following morning, Erik came in all cheerful and excited, talking without breathing about how happy he was to have a wife, and how happy I would be once I had a proper house to live in. He left me alone to dress, but paced outside the door as I did so. There was something about his manner that made me shut my eyes in dread. He seemed to be waiting for me to come out so he could show me something.

"What is it, Erik?" I sighed as I emerged.

He took my hand and patted it, "I know you said you didn't want pets."

"Yes."

"But you also told me before that, as a girl, you had wanted a dog, so I thought, for just a day, you might enjoy a few puppies."

"Puppies?" I mouthed in confusion.

"Poodle puppies, and their mother."

"But for the day?"

"Yes. I found a way to have them for a day and then send them back... Are you happy about this?"

My features rose slightly, "It's very nice of you..."

He had set up a white pen in the drawing room, and inside were three little clouds and their well-groomed mother, who was curled up as they pawed at her gray stomach.

Erik picked one up for me, "You women are so curious for liking these sorts of things."

"Some men like them too," I replied quietly, taking the puppy and placing it in my lap. Its little pink tongue flashed across my fingertips.

"They do? But they're rather annoying, yipping all the time and ruining furniture..."

"But they're cute."

"Yes, adorable," he replied sarcastically. "But have fun with them. I'll return them after we go on our ride tonight."

I caressed the puppy's ears. I didn't know what to think of Erik anymore. He defied definition. Was he a madman? An evil one? Only trying to love me in the worst ways he could think up?

But he hadn't made use of his marital right yet. At least there was that.

That night, after dinner, he told me to change clothes if I so desired before our ride. I put on his favorite dress, thinking if I pleased him enough, he would let me out every day, or at least often. I couldn't bear being trapped beneath the earth without a ray of sunshine or a breeze. It was torture enough even without him.

"How beautiful you look," he told me, in one of his nicest suits and his false nose.

I averted my eyes in mock shyness, though truly I had developed a disgust for his appearance within the four days since he had brought me down here, chloroformed and white with fear. Before, I had managed to stare directly into his eyes without a shiver, but now I found myself near incapable.

He helped me into the boat, and I glanced around into the darkness as we pushed off into musty air and black waters.

"Would you like to go shopping with me sometime?" Erik offered as he rowed.

I was staring blankly into the water, and answered emotionlessly, "I would love that."

"Is there anything you would like? Combs, pins, jewels? Oh, I don't believe you have a brooch at all, would you like one?"

I nodded, my ears not retaining a word.

He tied up the boat and then assisted me out, all gentlemanly. I was barely retraining myself from running to the cool air.

He pulled on my arm, "If you make a fuss of any sort, you will remain at home for quite some time, understood?"

I nodded.

He patted my hand, "I had to be sure... I didn't hurt you, did I? You were walking briskly enough I feared you might be too excited."

"You didn't hurt me," I lied. "I'm only excited to be above ground again."

"Yes, it's terrible for you to spend so much time down there, but there's nothing else to be done at the moment. Once you decide on a house, I'll have it prepared as quickly as possible. You'll be much happier then..."

I knew a house above ground wouldn't be any better than the one below, save that I could see sunlight through a proper window. I would be as much a prisoner there as I was here... hopefully not more so...

The brougham was waiting for us. I stared up at the moon, my lips parting, and Erik gently prodded me through the door.

"How beautiful the world is," I whispered. "Could I open the window?"

"Leave it closed for now," he replied.

I nodded weakly. Once the sun had fully set, he told me I could open it, but only enough to let in a thin breeze.

"You've been quiet ever since yesterday," he told me.

I continued staring outside, my lips gently parted.

"I don't understand why," he remarked.

My heart reddened at this, and I nearly snapped at him, but managed to restrain myself.

"Won't you reply?" He asked, his hand finding mine.

I snatched it away from him and brought it beneath my chin.

"I decide to take you out of the house and you won't even let me hold your hand," he said coldly and calmly.

"I'm sorry..." I whispered. "I was surprised is all."

I let my hand fall back into his grasp.

"You don't know how pretty your little hand is," he told me. "Your eyes are pretty, too, if you would look at me."

"The moon is lovely," I replied.

"Quite..."

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 **Version of Swedish song in English:**

From Earth's heart a spring there welled,

To the sun's warm kiss it smiled,

Clear it was as day's own light,

Just as pure and wondrous bright

To the spring comes, half afraid,

Now a little, childlike maid,

At her picture takes a peek,

Wets each rose-and-lily cheek.

Now this sport a little while

From below the spring did rile;

Very soon 't was clear and pure,

Just as wondrous as before. —

Flies the time, the child is gone,

Comes a maiden fair and wan ;

Goes and gazes in the spring

Like a broken lily-thing.

On the face she sees below

Falls a tear of grief and woe,

And the spring, but now so clear,

All at once grows black and blear.

Fall and winter changes bring,

Murk and muddy stays the spring;

Summers, winters, year by year,

Nevermore the spring shall clear.


	11. Chapter 11: Windows

**Apologies for the wait, it took a while to come to me. Captive in a Sanctuary should update soon, too.**

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I had never truly appreciated what it was to be free. I had always been able to do whatever I wanted. My father had even told me as much as a girl. The world was mine to hold, regardless of my poverty, regardless of my sex. Every ounce of my body, every breath I took, every drop of blood in my veins, all of it had belonged solely to me.

It was near incomprehensible to me now that it wasn't. I wasn't allowed to do anything without asking, and if I did make a request, and Erik didn't want to acquiesce, he would often take my words and mold them into something he liked more. In this way, even the words in my mouth were often not mine.

I continued to sing, however. It was the only part of me unaffected by my clipped wings and captivity, for the simple reason that I wasn't singing for Erik; I sang for myself, and often Raoul. When I sang for Raoul, though, my eyes grew red and watery, and as Erik was both genius and madman, he would swiftly conclude I was pining for 'my old friend' the vicomte, who he said should be setting sail any day now.

My tongue was always too heavy for a sharp reply.

To my surprise, however, on Monday Erik fulfilled his promise to me. He took me to three different houses, and I selected the one he seemed to describe most enthusiastically.

I didn't realize how much worse it would be in that house than it ever was beneath the earth. In that house, Erik's full interpretation of marriage unfolded.

He installed us there after a little over a week, when the colors of spring were just beginning to bleed onto the streets of Paris. The city wore the new season well, becoming swarmed with flowers, bright with a renewed sun, and filled with women in warmly-colored dresses and floral hats.

But the sight came at a cost. The two windows in my bedroom, the weekly walks, the sight of the sun and moon, all bore a price that made my stomach churn: the bedroom wasn't mine. I had been so desperate for these necessities that I had agreed to his terms: one night a week in my company. He assured me he wouldn't demand anything other than my presence, but I couldn't possibly believe him. I had even considered bargaining the last part of me that I possessed simply to see mamma, and if not for that, then only to be sure he didn't take it by force. My mind was marble upon the matter. He wouldn't take it; I would give it on my own terms.

I didn't believe him truly capable of violently harming me in any way, unless his mind fully unraveled, but his conscience was watery. It wouldn't surprise me if I woke up one day with the feeling of him on my skin, having taken one of his remedies for a headache or nightmares the prior night. He might not even see that as wrong. After all, he wouldn't have hurt me, nor taken anything that wasn't his right.

He could take anything he wanted from me. He could make me do anything. Something I wanted desperately could be held over my head by him until I succumbed to his wishes. The helplessness of it all was maddening.

But at least I was in a house now, in a room with pastel blue wallpaper and white furnishings. I had a grand white closet stuffed with ruffles and lace, a silver jewelry box that I had to force shut, and the prettiest little shoes that if I complained of them hurting my feet, they would vanish without my knowledge and be replaced with more comfortable models. All my possessions were silver or gold, of fine mahogany or another expensive wood, or fabrics like silk.

He seemed to think that husbands spoiled their wives and succumbed to all their wishes, should mine be compatible with his own.

I let him play his game of marriage. He brushed my hair in the morning, like I was his gold-haired doll, and he often requested for me to wear certain dresses or jewelry. Due to the thick fog about my senses, his selecting of clothes and brushing of my hair kept me from lying in bed all day and softening the feather pillows with tears.

He wanted all of me for himself at every moment. If I read books, he was beside me. If he composed, he asked me to sit in the armchair beside him. He wouldn't permit me more than an arm's length away, and often I could feel his yellow eyes boring into me. Often his sickly hand upon my head in a form of affection...

And yet, though I did everything he requested and was perfectly submissive, he kept begging for me to be happy. He drowned me in gifts in a pathetic attempt to remedy my melancholy, but the lines only grew more profound upon my face. He took me on walks in the nearby park, and yet I asked him to sit on a bench for most of the time. He didn't mind that, because I let him hold my hand. But this wasn't what he wanted; he wanted Christine, not this glass-eyed doll that resembled her.

He came into the house one afternoon with a moon-white dove in a silver cage for me to amuse myself with. He placed it in the corner of my room. It stared at me with two beads of black glass, and I stared back into the heart of the little creature. The following night, I was so distressed by its captivity that I threw open the window and cast it out into the night air, where it soared like a white star. I smiled faintly at its freedom.

Erik barely noticed its absence. And besides, I was actually happier with it gone, knowing it was free, so he was delighted by the turn of events.

He took me to buy a new dress the next day, as he did every so often, and I requested a black one. He blinked in confusion.

"Black?" He asked, his false nose rising a bit. "What a sad color that is, what about blue?"

"All my dresses are blue."

"Not all... Perhaps a nice gray?"

"Gray is fine..."

"Do you like the style of the dress in the window? It would suit you well."

I nodded blankly. He made an order for it. I wove my arm in his and we went out onto the sidewalk. He bought me a pink rose bouquet laced with baby's breath before catching a brougham.

"The dining room table for these?" He asked, gesturing to the flowers with a relaxed hand.

"I think so..." I replied.

"The maid is coming tomorrow morning. I thought we could take a walk through the Tuileries."

"Could we go to the museum?" I asked, thinking it might distract me.

"The Louvre?... Why not the Musée Grevin? I thought that was your favorite."

"I've never been in the Louvre."

"But you're not one for art."

"I like sculptures." I then used what nearly always changed his mind for matters like this, "Husbands often take their wives to see art."

"Of course, yes... Tomorrow after the Tuileries."

I gave a semblance of a smile, and he was appeased by that for the rest of the day. The night was his, however. Once I had put on my delicate nightgown and slipped under the covers, he came in and joined me. We never touched, though.

I bade him goodnight, and he did likewise. I slid further towards the edge of the bed and shut my eyes against the dark.

Dreams had begun to take root when I felt something curious, like sticky little legs running through my hair. Dazed from sleep, I gave a cry and stumbled out of bed, only to find Erik sitting up, white and petrified. His hand was outstretched.

"You promised," I whined, as it was all I could manage. "You promised!"

"My love, no, no! How could you accuse me of such a thing? There was a spider in your hair, my dear, and I went to get rid of it. Erik keeps his promises to you, you know that."

"A spider?" I whispered, believing the lie rather than acknowledging the likely truth. "A spider... t-thank you..."

He pretended to fling it away, as if it had been caught between his skeletal fingertips. I slid back into bed, my eyelids growing heavy with dew.

He turned on his side. I wept into my pillow softly enough to go unheard, so that all he commented upon was why I was trembling. He placed another blanket over me and was appeased.

It could be worse. I kept telling myself, over and over, in abject desperation, it could be worse, it could be worse... oh, so much worse...

"Christine?" he called a few nights later after a particularly melancholy day. "You've been getting dressed an awfully long time, my dear."

I had my hand pressed to the windowpane as I stared out upon the dimly lit street. Long since I had viewed a young couple pushing a cream-white baby carriage down the damp sidewalk, and been entranced by their happiness, almost as if it were my own. I had been trying to wish myself away, but that was a child's miracle; I was a woman in a broken reality.

Erik came upstairs, his pace brisk. He knocked three times, politely, upon the door.

"Are you all right?" He asked.

I rubbed my leaking eyes, "Y-yes. Fine."

"Won't you come downstairs, then?"

I wanted mamma. I wanted mamma so desperately at that moment the worn clockwork of my mind was beginning to turn its gears towards the unthinkable.

Erik pushed open the door with his rotten fingertips, "I thought we could play music for a while before bed."

My voice creaked as I spoke, "I miss..."

His eyes flickered that I had said something, as I had been a well-behaved doll all day.

"What do you miss?" He inquired, coming over to me. "Surely something I can give you?"

I shut my eyes. He tilted up my chin and I pulled away from him, crossing my arms to shield myself.

"Mamma Valerius," I whispered. "I miss... h-her."

He drummed his fingertips against one another, pensive. A spark of hope rose within me. What was he contemplating?

"You may write to her," he informed me, "every few days."

My mouth fell open at such a promise, but I shut it in realization that there must be something attached to it. He wanted another piece of marriage.

"Thank you, thank you so much," I told him. "Will you read them?"

"I'll glance at them, of course, to be sure you're well, but that is all... This will make you happy?"

"Yes, very happy, thank you, but... w-what must I give you for it?"

"Tonight in your company is all."

"Of course, yes," I exhaled in relief.

Oh, to write to mamma! My mouth seemed to creak from lack of use as I smiled weakly.

"How beautiful you are when you smile," he sighed. "I wonder..."

"Wonder what?"

"Nothing, my darling, nothing to concern you yet."

"Yet?"

"Well, I was considering-" he began to pace. "I am considering- after all, we are married, and you're the most perfect wife, how wonderful you are, but you've barely smiled since the wedding. I adore your smile. Of course, the blame for the lack of it lies with another, but you can learn to be happy, perhaps, and yet perhaps you won't be truly happy unless... Women are rather simple creatures to please, all save you, but you'll learn that you can be quite happy here... It is my regret to admit that... a woman like you should have a baby."

I stammered in horror, "N-no, no, I don't want a baby."

He sighed in irritation, "Not _my_ baby, my silly little Christine, _a_ baby. They're very easy to procure."

"Procure?... You would steal a child?"

"No, no, steal a child from its mother? That's ludicrous. Plenty of children are unwanted, as I was, though I wasn't sent away or abandoned, and I'm sure it would be simple to procure one for you."

"I don't want a baby."

"But you _would_ have wanted one."

My thin glass of sanity shattered, "Because I loved him!"

Erik stood perfectly still, and I melted away in fear of his reaction.

"What is my rule regarding him?" He asked, his voice drained of feeling.

"Not to mention him..." I trembled out, "o-or think of him."

"Did you not just do both?"

"You brought him up-"

"No. I did not mention him... Is it wrong of me to be jealous?"

"No."

"Whose wife are you?"

I lowered my eyes, "Yours."

"Who has given you all the comforts of life and his very heart these past few weeks?"

"You."

"Then why do you betray me with another? I want your thoughts, too..." He exhaled regretfully. "No letters."

"E-Erik, please-"

"Why can you not forget him?!" He snapped, and I backed away from him in fright. "What can he give you that I can't? My heart is yours, Christine, I would carve it out for you! Do you want it _bleeding_ , is that what you desire? For my suffering, like everyone else? Oh, what have I given you to deserve this? I've given you- why, look, look!"

He grabbed my arms and pulled me over to the closet, forcing me to look as he showed me the decadent gowns.

"I've given you all this!" He said, then he dragged me over to the jewelry-box, offering up its glittering contents as I nodded, petrified. "And combs and pins and shoes, things any other woman desires! If only you were shallow and vain like them, but no, no! You're so much more than anyone else could ever dream of being, even now when you torment me. Oh, how I wish I could give you anything material that you wanted, material, but you scorn anything save those of heartfelt meaning! Is my heart not in these? Or do you deem my heart too unfeeling to comprehend love? How I love you! That is all I do, and yet you don't care, you laugh at my attempts, you cry, all because of _this_!"

He tore off his mask, revealing the whole horror of his gruesome features to me. The black pits, rotting skin, sunken cheeks, and his eyes, his horrible yellow cat-eyes in those black abysses!

By then I was sobbing profusely, enough to blind me. My arms stung from his sharp fingertips. Clarity returned to his fiery eyes, and he released me in horror.

"I didn't mean to make you cry," he pleaded as I curled up on the floor beside the bed. "You're so difficult sometimes, that's all, and perhaps I'm not so patient, why should I be? But I try, yes, you'll see how good marriage is for you, you'll see... you'll see... Here, here, I've replaced my mask! Don't fret, you can look now... Why won't you look? Ah, you're frightened still, poor little Christine... I have quite a temper, I admit, you had better not rile it so often, as it pains me and terrifies you. You should be more careful... But I'll make you something for your nerves, calm yourself down a bit, you're perfectly fine. You know I would never hurt you, never, never... I'll be back in a moment with a remedy for your fright."

He shuffled downstairs. My flustered senses, swarmed with fearful emotion, made me reel at the thought of swallowing one of his remedies. I shuddered.

His footsteps echoed up the stairs. I remained at the base of the bed, trembling with the knowledge that this could be the night. Any one could be the night.

But when he returned, I tipped the cup to my lips in obedience, and fell into a dark, undisturbed slumber.

The next morning I begged Erik to let me write a letter to mamma, offered him kisses and the night in my company, but to my surprise, he refused. Again and again he refused until he snapped at me, "Until you love me you can love no one else!"

I ran up to my room and slammed the door. My eyes filled with tears as I sank to the floor in despair.

 _I wish I was that dove..._

"Christine, my dear?" Erik pleaded from behind the door, his soft voice soaked with tears. "Could you at least pretend to love me? Just pretend like you did before?"

"Let me see mamma," I replied weakly. "Just let me see her, please."

"I cannot."

"Then I cannot even pretend to love you when you deny me the right to see my only family, and she isn't even my family, I have no one!"

"You have your husband. Isn't that enough?"

I went silent, devoid of words. There was no arguing against him.

"If you want more company, you may have a child," he informed me. "We can have our own family, wouldn't that be nice?"

I shook my head.

"Please don't be silent," he begged. "I love your voice the most."

I gave no reply. He exhaled in frustration.

"It's your own fault you can't write letters now," he snapped. "Not mine."

"But you can forgive me."

"You keep thinking of the boy! Isn't that adultery?"

"N-no, thinking isn't, and I don't think at all, I promise! I try to only focus on us, and I succeed. I do!"

"I don't believe you..." he sighed. "You may write one letter every month, no more, and no more outbursts or they will be taken away."

I was too drained to thank him, nor did I realize what miracle would come of these monthly letters.


	12. Chapter 12: Days

**This was a last minute decision that just came to me all of a sudden. I will explain the logic of it in the comments once a few people have reviewed, but feel free to PM me.**

 **Enjoy the FINAL CHAPTER of this dark fic**

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I wrote a letter to mamma, completely avoiding any mention of my marriage. I asked her how she was, if she needed anything, and I told her I was well. To add more proof, though, I said that I was rather wealthy now; I included mentions of my dresses and jewels.

The one part that I omitted was how much I missed her. Erik would likely read the letter before I sent it, and he might tear it in half if it contained anything that took my affections from him.

I shuffled downstairs to find him composing, likely to distract him from the fact I had been writing a note outside of his company. He was hunched over the keys, humming and mumbling to himself. I heard the clink of a pen against the ink jar, and then scratching as he dotted the paper before him.

"Erik?" I called.

He spun around immediately, alight, "What, my love? Are you finished?"

I nodded, extending the note to him. His yellow eyes glanced at it, but he seemed to find no fault, as he immediately sealed it. I wrote mamma's address, pressed the stamp to the corner, and offered it back to Erik. He gave a gentle shake of his hand.

"You can send it," he said.

I blinked in confusion, drawing the letter to my heart, "Send it?"

"The box is just outside, to the left, haven't you seen it?"

"Alone?" I whispered.

"Why do I need to come out? But be quick, I have something to show you."

I stared at the door. I had never opened it myself. What a funny thing that was to say! But it had always been Erik, always, always...

I found myself drifting toward it. My hand met the handle, and I glanced back at Erik.

He was bent over the piano again, consumed by music. I slipped out the door onto the street.

There was a cold fear that grasped my heart. Where it came from, I knew not, but it was almost like I was lost in the midst of a vast crowd of people, when only a few souls were trickling down the sidewalk. I stood on the doorstep, perfectly petrified.

Blood flowed back into my limbs, and I walked over to the yellow box to feed my letter into it. Then, suddenly fearful that I had been outside too long, I rushed back inside.

Erik had his hands clasped behind his back, as if he had been pacing, and he demanded, "Why were you so long?"

"The wind..." I lied pitifully. "It felt nice."

"Why don't we open a few windows, then?" He offered, drawing the two up. "Better?"

"Much better, yes."

"Now come sit down, I have a trick to show you."

I nodded, going around the coral sofa and placing myself upon it. Erik brought out a deck of red-backed cards.

"Do you want to examine them?" He offered, as he always did.

My throat was tight, so I shook my head.

He nodded, beginning to shuffle them. My eyes trailed off to stare at the mantelpiece above the fireplace. There rested three china plates with watery-blue koi fish painted upon them. Normally, however, there would be pictures of the inhabitants, one or two, and yet Erik had not asked for any of me.

I dragged my eyes back to his hands, and inhaled sharply to find that a card vanished each time he shuffled. The pile was thinning before my eyes.

"Won't you explain to me?" I pleaded as he turned two empty palms to me.

"Oh, that would take all the fun out of it," he chuckled, procuring the cards back out of thin air and beginning to shuffle them together.

"At least explain one? Then I could try it."

"I don't believe I _could_ teach you. I don't have to even think anymore, the cards simply _appear_."

He began to shuffle air, and, one by one, the cards thickened. I glanced towards an open window.

"I want to buy you something," I told him blankly.

The shuffling ceased.

"What?" He whispered.

"You... buy me so many gifts, and I've never given you anything."

"Wives don't buy their husbands gifts, that doesn't make any sense. You would be using my money."

"No, wives do, all the time, their husbands give them a bit of money and they can go buy a gift."

"What gift?"

"It's a surprise-"

"I don't like surprises..." He set the short deck of cards upon the coffee table. "What is it?"

I bit my lip, "A picture... o-of me. I thought you might want one."

He was still and silent for a moment, pensive. I fidgeted with the fabric of my skirt.

"All right," he said softly. "If that is what you want to do, of course... But I can just bring a photographer to the house-"

"I want-"

"-and you could sit in the corner, right over here. Maybe a chair from the dining room, and an end table beside? With roses? Yes, I think so... And you should wear the diamonds I bought you."

He glanced over at me. I was swallowing and titling up my face in an attempt not to cry.

"Why do you not smile?" He asked.

My resolve thinned. I dissolved promptly into my hands as Erik circled me in confusion.

"Why do you cry?" He pleaded, bewildered. "I've given you what you want, why do you cry?"

I found myself unable to reply. He inhaled sharply.

"I know!" He said. "I know why you cry! My poor wife, you have to be alone in the picture, though you have a husband, all alone. And you don't have a child to accompany you either... Then no pictures, as they'll only upset you. Why do I need a picture of you, anyway? I have you here... Or do you cry for a child at last?"

I shook my head, "No-"

"Mothers always seem so happy when they have little children to play with, pretty ones, that is... Perhaps you don't understand how happy one would make you. Do you prefer a boy or a girl?"

"Erik, I don't want-"

"Shh, at least try. After all, wives are supposed to have children, that's their primary purpose, that and their companionship... Boy or girl?"

"But you can't bring a child _here_ ," I whined.

"Why not here? You'll be a fine mother, and I certainly won't have anything to do with the little thing... I think a little girl would be your preference."

"Erik-"

"One that looks like you so no one would know it wasn't yours."

"I don't-"

"Do you want to come pick one out with me?"

"Children are not things!" I shrieked with all my frail might. "They're not toys for me to play with, and I'm not bringing one here because you might hurt her!"

Erik was still for a moment.

"Hurt her?" He whispered. "Why would I hurt something of yours?"

"You don't have any trouble with it," I retorted, already sobbing for fear he would round on me.

"W-when?" He asked, his voice frail with horror. "I haven't hurt anything of yours, certainly not you. I love you."

"Last night."

"Last night? I didn't hurt you. I only raised my voice a bit, as you shouldn't have said what you did-"

"I have proof," I quaked.

"Proof?" He whispered.

I rolled my sleeves up nearly to my elbows to show him the paling purple dots about me, the perfect shape of his fingertips.

He shook his head, pulling his eyes away, "No, no, you injured yourself."

"I did not-"

"No!" He wailed, shaking his head violently. "How could I hurt my wife? You must have... slept wrong."

"Does this look like sleeping wrong to you?" I asked, trying to put the bruises back in his gaze. "These are your prints-"

"No-"

"Ten marks from two hands-"

"No, please-"

"-when you pulled me around-"

"It was an accident! I didn't mean to, you know that, never! I would never hurt you."

"And yet you _did_ ," I told him coldly.

"You were speaking of a former lover!"

"Is that a reason to harm your own wife? To bruise her? Don't you love me? What good husband leaves marks on his wife's arms?"

He threw on his false nose and fled out the door, locking it behind him. I wound my arms about myself.

At least he might leave me alone for a while...

I didn't feel the need to occupy myself. I enjoyed the quiet by simply staring into space. It was quite a relaxing activity, and I had found immense enjoyment in it ever since my miserable marriage.

Erik was gone for hours. I ended up making myself onion soup for dinner, and it was a relief to eat away from his gaze. I had never appreciated silence before.

Once I had put away my meal, after waiting another hour for him to return, I sat down on the sofa and read a frivolous novel. Every so often, I would glance at the door, but no one was there. The windows had gone dark. The streets had grown quieter, with precious little clinking of horse-hooves and the hum of rolling wheels.

I remained there until midnight. It was then that I dressed for bed, said my prayers, and slipped beneath the sheets in confusion.

 _Where was he?_

All night I was alone. When I woke, I crept into his bedroom and found it empty. Perturbed, I made myself porridge, but pushed it away due to an anxious stomach. I kept glancing at the door, my heart beating more frantically each time, and yet no one appeared. Once I imagined I heard a knock, but when I asked who it was, no one replied.

I waited for my letter from mamma as well. It ought to arrive soon. I waited all day, and then all night, and it only arrived at noon the following day. Erik had been absent two whole days now, and three nights.

The letter put through the door bore my name, and my stomach relaxed its knot so that I could read the reply from mamma.

"Mademoiselle Daaé,

I am the Persian man whom you have seen around the opera house, and who fell into the torture chamber in an attempt to free you. I was unable to aid you after your forced marriage due to threats from Erik for both the vicomte and your benefactress. The former, however, is perfectly safe: he is in Italy with his brother, taking a vacation for his poor health. I made sure of this so that he would not do something foolish resulting in his death. It was a miracle that Erik did not kill him, nor me. Your benefactress I have been watching over to be sure she is well, though she has weakened from worrying about you.

I write to tell you that Erik is dead. Whatever occurred between you both a couple nights ago shocked him back into reality. It forced him to finally realize that you would never be happy whilst married to him, and that he was a danger to you. He came to my apartment, raving almost as if drunk, begging me to kill him. I thought he might have violated you; a crime I had hoped he was incapable of. Yet even so, I could not bear to do such a thing at that moment, so I insisted that he take me to you. He refused, and said he had another way to die should I cling to old companionships. He told me, also, that there was nothing left in this world for him, as the only thing he had ever loved he had broken, and music now made him grind his teeth in agony.

I followed him to the fifth cellar of the opera house. He rowed across the lake to his home there, and has not emerged since. As you read this letter, I am likely trying to gain entry to be sure he has passed. Once I am certain, I shall return you to your benefactress, and then help return the vicomte to you.

If he is not dead when I find him, I fear I have no choice but to end him, for your sake. I only hope I can have the strength to."

There was an unreadable signature at the bottom. I glanced up from the letter, and it slipped through my fingers.

Dead. I should be rejoicing. My soul should be alight.

Dead. He was dead because of me. I had shown him the marks on my arms, found my way into his mind at last to show him that he was hurting me.

Dead. The man who had caused my purest joy at one point in time and my deepest sorrow at another was likely dead.

I remained on the sofa for the rest of the day, forgetting often how to breathe. My mind seemed unable to comprehend all that had occurred in less than two months, and now had ended with this. It had worn out, torn its seams, and could not support anything more than being told what to do. Erik had turned me into that.

I reminded myself that there was not solid evidence of his death. He could still be alive. He could come through the door at any moment.

I waited on a ghost. I could do nothing else but stare at the door, watching for him. What else was there to be done?

At one point, my eyes shut, and I woke to the pink glow of sunrise and the sound of a knock at the door.


End file.
